


Family

by skybone



Series: Holding the Sky [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Development, F/F, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes family sucks. When it does, it helps to have a chosen family around you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third story in what has turned out to be a series: the first story is _[Aches and Pains](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4034131)_ , the second is _[The Storm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4413254)_. I would **strongly** advise reading both of them before this one.
> 
> Several people wanted to know more about the backstory of my Inquisitor Trev; this story answers at least some of those questions. It contains angst and non-explicit smut.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: this story contains content that some people might find triggering: see the Bottom Notes to read specifics but be aware that doing so will spoil some of the story arc's suspense.
> 
> Characters and setting and a few incidental lines of dialogue belong to Bioware, the rest is mine.

Cassandra rode back into Skyhold at the end of a very long day, tired and hot and grubby. Overall it had been a demanding trip, and for the last two days her party had risen before dawn and ridden late into the evening so they could reach the hold sooner, and they were all showing signs of wear and tear. But as the keep came in sight she found her spirits rising. She was coming home, and Trev would be there.

She had not liked being away for so long. Usually it didn’t matter—she missed Trev when separated from her but was not disturbed by the separation—but right now there was still a shakiness, a tentativeness to their relationship, a mutual disbelief in its resurrection, that unsettled her. She wanted to be back with Trev, and badly.

The Inquisitor was not in the courtyard to greet them, which was unusual and disturbed her more than she would have expected. But Leliana was there, surprisingly, and took the bridle of Cassandra’s mount. “Is everything all right?” said the Seeker, frowning and sliding down from the saddle.

“Yes,” said the spymaster, whom she could trust to know exactly what she meant. “But diplomatic duties have trapped the Inquisitor and Ambassador, I’m afraid. There is a new delegation from the Chantry, just arrived today.” She sighed. “They are still arguing about who will ascend to the Sunburst Throne, and that means more questions for both of us.”

Cassandra groaned. “Surely they can move more quickly than this!”

“Apparently not,” said Leliana. “Cassandra—you should know—the head of this delegation is Trev’s brother.”

“Not the heir, surely?” said Cassandra. She tried to remember what Trev had said about her siblings, and failed; the Inquisitor spoke very little about them.

“No,” said Leliana, “this brother is the next to Trev in age. His name is Eiric.”

“I suppose it will be pleasant for Trev to see him, at least,” said Cassandra resignedly.

Leliana hesitated. “I am not so certain,” she said. “They do not seem to be close.”

Cassandra knew that Trev was estranged from her father, and consequently had little to do with her family; but the Inquisitor had said nothing in particular about her brothers. She thought of Anthony, and found it hard to imagine not loving a brother; but she supposed that every family was different. “Well,” she said, “I shall get cleaned up and find them; I assume they are in the Great Hall?”

“Yes,” said Leliana. “Dinner is over, but they will be there for some time, I think; Serah Eiric seems to have a great deal to say. I will rejoin them and see you there.”

*           *           *

Cassandra would have liked to relax in a long, soothing bath, but she wanted to see Trev far too much to entertain that kind of delay, and contented herself with a quick wash in a basin and a change of clothes, so she did not smell quite so emphatically of horse and sweat. When she entered the Great Hall she found it crowded with the members of the delegation, the courtiers who always lingered around Skyhold, and the Council of Advisors. Trev was half hidden in a press of people; she made her way toward that group.

A large, florid man was in her way. She nudged past him, murmuring an excuse, and felt his eyes slide over her and dismiss her as inconsequential. “Inquisitor,” she said.

Trev looked round and Cassandra saw her expression, which had a fixed attentiveness, soften and focus. “Cassandra,” she said, and smiled. And then she turned back to the large man. “Lady Cassandra, may I present my brother, Eiric Trevelyan. He is head of the delegation from the Chantry. Eiric, this is Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine.” And then she introduced the other functionaries, Robert Benedict and Alia Constanza, both pleasant-seeming individuals.

“Serah Eiric,” Cassandra said. Things must be very bad indeed if Trev was introducing her so formally; she knew how much Cassandra loathed such introductions. She took the hand Trev’s brother offered and tried not to show her distaste as he smiled meaningfully and lifted hers to his lips. This was a Chantry functionary, and as he was a man, that meant he was a clerk, no matter how elevated his position in that role. Yet he was behaving like a courtier. But she had seen his reaction to her titles; despite having been a Chantry bureaucrat, he had not recognized her at first. His interest had sharpened significantly when he realized who she was, and now he was giving her his most respectful attention.

“Lady Cassandra,” he said charmingly. Or at least she supposed his tone was supposed to be charming; tired and always impatient with the rituals of the nobility, she found it fulsome and false. “I am delighted to meet you and look forward to interviewing you. I have heard so many stories of the Hero of Orlais, and Evelyn has spoken of your work with the Inquisition.”

Evelyn?

“If you call me that no one will know who you are speaking of, Eiric,” said Trev dryly.

“It is your name,” he replied, and Cassandra thought there was an edge in his voice, “and one with a long and honourable history in our family.”

“We have spoken of our relative definitions of honour in the past,” said Trev, with a tight smile, “and the ancestor for whom I am named is not one I care to be associated with.”

“That may be,” he said, “but it is still your name, and you are not entitled to call yourself Trevelyan—only our brother has that right.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t, then, isn’t it?” said the Inquisitor, and then appeared to stifle something else she was going to say.

Cassandra looked between them and made a split second decision. “Inquisitor,” she said, “I have only just returned from the Exalted Plains, and I must make a report to you; I am very sorry, but it should not wait. If I may beg the indulgence of Serah Eiric and the rest of the delegation...?”

Eiric and the other functionaries murmured their acquiescence, Trev’s brother looking rather as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him, and Trev said polite things and then led Cassandra to the door to the stairs leading to her quarters. Once through it she shot the bolt and then shut her eyes and simply stood leaning against the door.

“Trev,” said Cassandra.

“I will do my best not to kill him,” said the Inquisitor, not opening her eyes. “It would not do for the leader of the Inquisition to interfere with Chantry politics in such a _direct_ fashion, I am certain.”

Cassandra put her hands on Trev’s shoulders. She could feel a fine tremor of tension running through her body. “Trev,” she said again.

Trev opened her eyes, then, and blinked, and said, “Cassandra,” and the brittle, facile tone had gone. “I am glad you are home.” And she reached out and wrapped her arms around the Seeker and held her tightly.

After a bit she sighed and said, “My brother Eiric and I have... never been fond of each other.” And then, before Cassandra could respond to this, “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet,” said Cassandra. “Leliana told me there was a delegation; I changed my clothes and came straight to the Hall.”

Trev pulled the bolt, looked quickly out and signalled to a servant. “Bring food for the Seeker,” she said, “and wine.”

She left the door unlocked and led Cassandra up the stairs, and began to question her about her trip to the Plains; it was in fact of importance, though not quite of the level that had been implied to Serah Eiric. By the time Cassandra had finished her report the servant had brought food, and she was glad of it. Trev murmured to the servant and then while the Seeker ate and drank she drank as well, more wine than was usual for her, although not so much that it affected her noticeably. As Cassandra was finishing her meal more servants returned with pails of hot water, and brought out the metal tub from its closet and filled it, then bowed and left. Trev ran down the stairs and bolted the door behind them.

“I thought you might like a bath,” she said, “as you’ve been travelling all day.”

“I would,” said a grateful Cassandra, finishing the last of the spicy meat pastries; she felt unexpectedly tired and achy after the day’s long ride.

She stripped and sank into the hot water with a sigh, and let her head fall back against the hard metal, feeling the aches begin to dissolve. She shut her eyes. Trev had poured a little scented oil into the water, and the fragrance of roses rose soothingly around her. She felt a hand caress her hair, and lips touch hers lightly and withdraw, and then the Inquisitor left her to soak in a sleepy warm haze.

Later, yawning and wrapped in one of Trev’s robes—it was not quite long enough for her, but was deliciously comfortable—she joined her lover on the settee before the fire. Her hair would dry quickly, which was fortunate; she doubted she could stay awake for much longer, and preferred not to have to deal with the consequences of going to bed with damp hair, which tended to an extravagance that everyone except herself found amusing.

Trev seemed to have nothing to say, and Cassandra was too tired to make careless conversation; she put her arm round the Inquisitor’s shoulder and together they watched the fire. Eventually Trev said, “Would you mind very much if we just slept together tonight, with nothing more? I find that I am very out of sorts.”

“Of course not,” said Cassandra. Then, hesitating because she knew she was not good at this sort of thing, “Is there anything I can help with?”

Trev sighed. “No. It is just that my brother and I have a history that leaves very little fondness for each other. And it does not help that he calls me Evelyn. I think he does it because he knows how much it angers me.”

“It is a beautiful name,” said Cassandra carefully.

“It is the name of an ancestor who was one of few outside Orlais to answer the call for the Exalted March against the Dalish elves,” said Trev bleakly. “She rode with Sister Amity, and assisted her in her work in a particularly cruel and brutal way. My family holds her as a model of Andrastian faith and dedication, and that is why they named me after her. I am afraid that I disagree with their assessment of her worth.”

“I can understand why you would not wish to use that name, then,” said Cassandra, and the Inquisitor sighed and relaxed.

“I have not used it in a long time, and I don’t intend to begin, whatever my family might prefer.” And then she said, “But I must tell you of Sera’s latest prank,” and began to do so.

The abrupt change of subject made it clear that her brother and her family were things the Inquisitor did not wish to speak of, and Cassandra did not pursue it; but she wondered, nonetheless. Was it really true that there was no fondness between Trev and her brother? She could not imagine having a brother one did not love. But certainly it seemed that the relationship between Trev and Eiric was difficult, at the least. And when they finally went to bed and wrapped themselves together, she thought that Trev’s grip was a little tighter than usual; but perhaps it was just that she had not felt it for a time.

*           *           *

In the morning, Cassandra woke slowly to the feeling of hands moving on her, a mouth against her neck, and half-roused into a delicious lassitude of pure sensation, feeling like an unfolding flower responding to the sun, lapped in warmth and light. Eventually Trev brought her to a dazed, echoing completion, drained and energized at the same time, and afterwards she smiled at her lover and kissed her gently, tasting herself on Trev’s lips. “I cannot think of any better way to wake up,” she said.

The Inquisitor touched noses with her and grinned. “I cannot think of any more enjoyable way to wake you up,” she said.

“It is a shame,” said Cassandra, “that I am not currently able to wake you in the same way, as you are already so very lively. I shall have to find something else to do.” She abruptly rolled, taking Trev with her, so that the Inquisitor lay beneath her, and put her mouth to Trev’s breast and her hands elsewhere.

“Um,” said Trev, her breathing speeding up. “Yes. Well. I am sure you will enjoy the challenge.” And it quickly became clear to the Seeker that certain parts of the Inquisitor were very lively and alert indeed.

Trev usually preferred it when Cassandra made love to her slowly, but occasionally she had no patience with delays, and this was one of those times; she was humming with tension and her responses were urgent and intense and soon left her limp and gasping in Cassandra’s arms. When she regained herself she kissed Cassandra fiercely. “I am so very glad you are home again,” she said happily.

It was only when they were dressing that her mood seemed to change; she sat to pull on her boots and then simply stopped and stared at a wall. “What is it?” said Cassandra.

Trev said nothing for a moment. “I do not like my brother,” she said finally. “I would prefer to avoid him completely, but that is impossible under the circumstances. But I would like to avoid giving him any reason to talk to me beyond things relating to his official purposes here. Especially about my personal life.” She paused, then said, “Would you mind if we were discreet about our relationship?”

Cassandra stared. Trev had never shown the least interest in hiding their relationship from anyone; certainly the entire hold knew of it. To have her ask for discretion now was very strange, and seemed pointless. “You do not want him to know about us?” she said.

“No,” said Trev. “He would not be able to resist commenting on it. And his teasing is not really teasing. Not to me, at least. I know that he might learn of it from others, and I can’t help that; but I just...” She trailed off.

“I do not mind, if it is what you wish,” said Cassandra. She did mind; the idea worried her, but if Trev asked it was clearly important to her, even if the Seeker did not understand why. “Do you want me to sleep in my loft again?”

Trev glared at her. “Certainly _not_. I have no intention of letting him change our lives; I only want to—to be more quiet about it.”

“Then we should be careful early in the morning and late at night,” said Cassandra. “I will watch when I come and go and try to avoid his notice.”

“Thank you,” said Trev, and there was something in her voice that was odd and off, but Cassandra could not quite tell what it was.

She was not at all happy about this request; it unsettled her. She did not like it, but she also did not understand it, and that made her cautious. Something was going on, but if the Inquisitor was not willing to speak of it, Cassandra would not push her.

Not until the troublesome brother was gone, at least.

*           *           *

Cassandra reluctantly acquiesced to the delegation’s request for a meeting two days later; there were many things, many more _useful_ things, that she would have preferred to be doing. Her conviction that her time would be better spent elsewhere was immediately confirmed: they began by asking her questions that every other delegation had asked. She answered as courteously as she could, wondering why bureaucrats seemed so incapable of sharing information.

The interview was informative in some ways, however; it gave her some sense of Trev’s brother and confirmed her initial reactions to him. He listened respectfully to the answers she gave to their questions, but also tended to talk himself, and far too much, about his own ideas and opinions. This was an _interview_. The point of it was to find out what she thought, so that her views could be reviewed by the Grand Clerics and compared to those of other candidates. It was not supposed to waste time in conversation, except insofar as discussion might elicit more from its subject, which Eiric’s side excursions rarely did. The other delegates sometimes asked interesting questions, but he tended to override them and direct the interview into areas of his own concern, and consequently she rarely had the opportunity to answer them fully.

His associates were impeccably courteous, but she thought that they were not entirely pleased with Serah Eiric’s handling of the conversation.

She escaped, finally, grateful to be free of the questioning, but sadly aware that there would be many more interviews to come. She hoped that they would get what they’d come for and leave as soon as possible. It was bad enough having to speak of her beliefs, much less speak of them repeatedly, and having to explain them to someone who was clearly a fool made her grind her teeth in frustration.

Eiric was a particularly intrusive fool; after that first interview he seemed to be constantly underfoot, his voice loud and commanding attention. He seemed to think that he had a right to her time outside of the formal interviews. He even came and watched her at her training, commenting on her style and talking about the training he himself had done as an apprentice templar, and offering inaccurate opinions on how it differed from the training given to a Seeker. She ignored him and said nothing, but that did not seem to dissuade him. Cassandra hated anything that disturbed her exercises, which had a meditative quality; such commentary, while not enough to throw her off in a technical sense, disrupted her focus. Everyone in Skyhold knew that it was unwise to distract the Seeker from her training at the dummies; but Eiric was his own best audience and seemed incapable of taking the hint that her silence offered. It became difficult to restrain herself from making it clear just how unwelcome his presence was, but she thought that perhaps this was intended as a test of her mettle as a candidate; surely no one could be so rude and unaware otherwise?

In self-defense she began to do most of her training just after dawn—Trev’s brother was not an early riser—or during times when she knew he would be at a meal. The whole thing was thoroughly annoying.

*           *           *

They went out on a short expedition a few days later, and Trev was clearly as glad to get away from Skyhold as Cassandra was. The trip itself was nothing of great importance—formalizing some alliances and looking for something or other mentioned in old records. No one was quite sure what, or where exactly it might be, but _keep your eyes open_ was the watchword.

They did find the rumoured something-or-other, but as was so often the case, it was a lot of trouble for not very much reward: a legendary weapon that turned out to be no better than those they already carried. The getting of it had been unpleasant, involving rage demons, and they’d run out of potions. All of them were scorched, and the Inquisitor had some bad burns, and it had been a long hard walk back to the camp and the supplies that would give relief. Cassandra was uncomfortable enough, and thought that Trev must be suffering a great deal, though the Inquisitor made no complaints. Trev had a high pain threshold, but the Seeker, worriedly watching her, saw the sheen of sweat and the grey tone under her tan, and was very thankful that the scout’s camp was not further away than it was.

Later, in their tent, she spread salve over the tender new skin where Trev had been burned, and listened to Trev talk about the day’s events and joke about the quality of ancient weapons, and thought how much more relaxed and cheerful the Inquisitor was despite the pain she had gone through. Evidently she felt the suffering caused by a rage demon was a fair exchange for freedom from her brother’s presence.

*           *           *

Eiric had a great deal to say about many things, including the makeup of the Inquisition and how it was run. He was fundamentally conservative and unimaginative in his outlook. He clearly disapproved of the diversity of the Inquisition’s adherents and expressed the view that it should only seek to attract the _better_ sort of supporters. It was some time before he encountered Dorian, who had been out on expedition when he arrived; but when he discovered that there was a Tevinter mage in Skyhold he was appalled, and said so. He found an audience among some, though not many, and certainly none among any of Trev’s inner circle.

“How can Evelyn allow this?” he complained to Cassandra at the end of one interview session with the delegation. “A Vint! And worse, a mage!”

“A mage who turned against his own people when he saw the damage they were doing,” said Cassandra.

“Which proves my point!” said Eiric. “ Obviously he cannot be trusted!”

Cassandra wondered if anyone could be as genuinely stupid as this man seemed to be. His assistants were looking in every direction but at him. She stood, and said, “I did not trust Dorian at first. But he has saved the Inquisitor’s life, and the lives of many of us, on more than one occasion. And he is the reason, the only reason, that we have not already fallen to Corypheus—his actions specifically were what saved us at Redcliffe Castle. He has proved his loyalty beyond all doubt, which is more than can be said for many who are supposedly on our side. You will not find any in authority in Skyhold who will hear your complaints about him, Serah Eiric.” And she turned and walked out.

It did not stop his complaints completely, though he was more careful who he pontificated to thereafter. He was thoroughly rude to Dorian, who was somewhat used to such treatment and had developed a provocative response to it. “If he finds my company unattractive,” Dorian said, “though really, given my many fine qualities that is difficult to understand, he may leave; for I certainly will not.” And then he ensured that he was a frequent customer in the Herald’s Rest, which was where Eiric preferred to relax. If Eiric was uncivil, Dorian would roar with laughter and draw attention to Eiric’s comments, rather than being offended by them, and make witty and barbed remarks in return; and in general, apart from a very few, the responses made it clear that Dorian was the man with the support in Skyhold, not Eiric. Dorian appeared to enjoy these exchanges greatly, though the same could not be said of Trev’s brother.

*           *           *

An overture had been received from one of the noble families in Nevarra, a staunch supporter of the Pentaghast dynasty, and it was followed by a delegation. The representative was extremely well-born but somewhat young for his position; a delicately implied statement of respect tempered by his lack of seniority. “You are being courted, but not without attention to the dowry,” said Cassandra to Trev, who laughed.

Cassandra met the delegation, of course, and sighed internally at the slightly awed response of Lord Florian. Her history, combined with her absence from her homeland and complete disinterest in its politics, had made her a half legendary figure in some circles, a position she was not at all comfortable with, and it appeared that this young diplomat may have been contaminated by these attitudes. Well, she thought, give him time; no doubt contact with the real Seeker would rub off some of the gloss of the heroic stories.

After the initial formal meetings, Cassandra saw little of Lord Florian; the bulk of the negotiations fell to the Inquisition’s Ambassador and her staff. Josephine seemed slightly distracted when Cassandra took tea with her on the week of the delegation’s arrival. Normally her mind was quick and focused, but on that day she twice missed something that Cassandra had said. Finally the Seeker said, “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” said Josephine quickly; and then, hesitantly, “It is nothing important. I just—I am afraid the Inquisitor is angry with me, and I am not sure why.”

This seemed unlikely to Cassandra, who knew that Trev was very fond of the Ambassador. “What happened?” she said.

“In the meeting today, we discussed the visit of the Nevarran delegation,” said Josephine. “I am sure that you know that they wish the Inquisition to support the claim of the Pentaghasts to the throne against those who wish to end your family’s rule.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra, sighing. “That is a given.”

“It was implied that should we do so, the Inquisition would benefit from more active support from the throne of Nevarra,” said Josephine. “But as the Inquisition’s policy is to maintain neutrality in national political matters unless there is a direct threat to us, there was discussion in Council as to how to reply to this request in ways that would not alienate potential allies. Leliana suggested that we neither offer nor refuse our support at this time, and leave it to the Pentaghasts to make the next move. The Inquisitor preferred to state our position immediately and unequivocally. I suggested—” She stopped speaking, frowning, and then said, “I pointed out that such equivocation was normal diplomatic practice, and that the delegation would expect it. I said that it was no more than the Inquisitor had done in the past. She... became angry.”

Cassandra frowned. This seemed very strange; Trev well understood the cautious, indirect diplomatic dance that Josephine described. She had commented once to Cassandra that she disliked the misdirection so often required by diplomacy, but also that she supposed that it was necessary. “What did she say?”

“She said that she would not lie for the convenience of diplomats,” said Josephine, “and ended the meeting. I am not certain how I offended her so badly, but I will apologize for doing so.”

“I think there are other things weighing on her at the moment,” said Cassandra. “I doubt that it is you that she is angry at.”

“Ah,” said Josephine. “Yes. There are certainly annoyances pressing on her. Well, I shall apologize nonetheless.”

*           *           *

In the late afternoon Cassandra found Trev sitting in her quarters, for once not working, simply sitting. She looked up as the Seeker approached. “Will you tell me if I am a bear?” she said.

“Have you been a bear?” said Cassandra.

“I think I have,” said Trev, slouching and looking disgruntled.

“I am the one who is usually bearish,” said Cassandra, sitting down and pulling Trev to her. “And you do a good job of letting me know when I am. So I think that it would only be fair for me to return the favour. What has happened?”

Trev shifted, all irritable knees and elbows. “I lost my temper and shouted at Josephine during the Council meeting today. She came to apologize for upsetting me. But I should not have shouted in the first place. My response to what she said was... inappropriate and intemperate.”

“That does sound bearish,” said Cassandra. “Did you tell her so?”

Trev sighed. “Yes. I apologized. It was not really Josephine I was upset at—but all at once everything to do with avoiding speaking plain truths for the sake of diplomacy—” She stopped, then said, “Sometimes I find it very difficult.”

“I can certainly understand _that_ ,” said Cassandra with feeling. Trev laughed and relaxed against her.

“I do not wish to be bearish with my friends,” she said after a moment. “If you see me doing so, please tell me to stop.”

“I will,” said the Seeker. “Is there something I can do to soothe the bear in you now?”

Trev looked at her, and her ears turned pink. “Actually—yes,” she said. “I do not think I am good for more work today. I simply want to relax and forget the things that anger me. If you have time... would you read to me?”

“I do have time,” said Cassandra, “and a new book. Let me find it.” They had recently discovered the pleasures of reading aloud to each other, and had begun to do so regularly.

At some point later on, Cassandra paused in her reading and looked down at the head resting on her thighs, and saw the shut eyes and the slow, even breathing, and set the book aside and stroked Trev’s hair. There was no point in continuing to read when Trev was asleep; she would simply have to reread sections again the next time they began. But she did not stop speaking; she began instead, slowly, to recite a love poem she had memorized long before she had anyone to speak it aloud to.

It was a long poem, for its type. When she had finished, she sat in silence, her hand still on Trev’s hair. And then the Inquisitor’s eyes opened, and she smiled, and Cassandra thought that perhaps she had not been asleep after all, for an arm came up and pulled her down into a gentle kiss.

*           *           *

“Pain,” said Cole, startling Cassandra into dropping her quill. “Ancient, always, everyone. But also fresh and frantic, growing and groping and growling in the belly. There is so much fear and hatred.”

“Cole, what are you talking about?” said Cassandra. “I am not afraid.”

“But you will be,” he said.

She stared into the place where he had been, bewildered.

*           *           *

Eiric seemed to have a gift for annoying people; the Seeker had heard a number of irritated comments about him. Vivienne was the only person who seemed to enjoy his company, and Cassandra could not for the life of her make out what interested the mage in him. Certainly she spent considerable time with the delegation, and seemed happy to do so. Well, it made sense in some ways; Vivienne was a great player of the Game, and probably missed it—Skyhold, despite the presence of Orlesian courtiers, did not provide nearly as much scope for her talents. Eiric and the others were fresh from Orlais, he was a functionary of some importance, and he and his associates doubtless had a great deal of current information about the maneuvers of the nobles there. But whatever the reason, it was all to the good; the more time Vivienne spent with the delegation, the less time that Cassandra had to bother with it.

“Would the Inquisitor care if someone thrashed her brother?” said Bull to Cassandra one day. She looked at him.

“She is not fond of him,” she said. “But she would probably not be happy if he was harmed; there might be diplomatic consequences with the Chantry.”

“Damn,” said Bull, looking disappointed.

*           *           *

“Serah Eiric is not the sort of person I would have expected the Chantry to send to question us,” Cassandra said to Leliana one day in the Rookery. She was feeling particularly disgruntled; there was work she needed to be doing, but another interview had kept her from it, and the man had asked a series of especially asinine questions.

“Mm,” said Leliana. “They do not have a great deal to choose from; the best died at the Conclave. But I agree. He would be better to leave the work to his assistants, who are competent, but he seems unwilling to do that. The Inquisitor does not get on with him, does she?”

Cassandra hesitated, but it was not as if their disaffection was not obvious. “They are not fond of each other. They have some kind of history, but I do not know what it is,” she said. “But it seems that most people do not get on with Eiric, other than Vivienne; I cannot see how she stands him, or why she bothers. He has offended many people in Skyhold with his bluster. And he has tried to cause trouble for Dorian.”

“I heard something about that,” said Leliana. “I think he will have little success, but it is a mark of his arrogance that he tries. I believe that I will look into this man a little further.”

*           *           *

The Council bore the brunt of Eiric’s dissatisfactions—and there were many of them. Cullen and Josephine heard a great deal about the things he felt infringed his dignity or caused him discomfort. “The man expects us to organize Skyhold for his convenience,” said Cullen to Cassandra one day, rubbing his neck in irritation and looking like he had a headache. “He wants breakfast to be scheduled later, so that the kitchen does not run out of the best sweet buns before he rises.”

“Seriously?” said Cassandra. “Surely he was joking when he said that.”

“Oh, no,” said Cullen. “He was quite serious, and annoyed when I told him that its timing was for the benefit of the recruits who were training. I suggested that he ask the kitchens to reserve buns for him, but he said that he had already requested that, and they had refused to do so.”

“He must have offended them in some way,” said Cassandra, who knew that the kitchens did in fact at times reserve certain treats for certain people, including herself; they always saved a few blueberry tarts for her, for example.

“I expect so,” said Cullen. “He has certainly offended me frequently enough. If he tells me one more time how the training of my recruits could be improved—well. I think that I shall try to avoid him as much as possible.”

*           *           *

Technically such domestic matters as the timing of breakfast should have been brought to Leliana, who was Skyhold’s seneschal, but Eiric seemed wary of her, which Cassandra thought indicated that he had at least some sense. Perhaps it was because she was a candidate, and therefore if elected would be capable of influencing his career; perhaps it was because she was the Left Hand, and he understood what that position encompassed. Whatever the reason, he did not take his complaints to her, though Cassandra was quite certain that Leliana was aware of them.

He did not even bring his outrage about Dorian to her, though as the Inquisition’s spymaster she would have been the person to address it; that he took to Josephine. “He has recognized that the Inquisitor will not banish Dorian, at least,” said Josephine cheerfully to Cassandra one day over tea, “but now he complains that Dorian taunts him. Which, of course, Dorian does; it is very amusing to watch. Serah Eiric has several times demanded that I do something about it, but I believe that I have finally settled that complaint.”

“How have you done that?” said Cassandra, fervently hoping it was an approach that could be applied more widely.

Josephine gave her an innocent smile. “I suggested that it was obviously a question of honour, and the only appropriate settlement for such insults would be to challenge Dorian to a duel. He did not seem willing to pursue that approach, however.”

Well, it was not a strategy that Cassandra could employ. But that did not prevent her from enjoying the thought of it very much.

In the end, having received no support for his concerns, Trev’s brother simply sank into sullen silence when Dorian was around, which the mage declared to Cassandra to be a sad disappointment, as the goading of him had been such an excellent source of entertainment.

*           *           *

Life went on. Trev went out on expeditions, as did Cassandra, often together but sometimes apart. Cassandra wished the separations were not necessary, but she had to admit she did enjoy their reunions; Trev made her happiness at the Seeker’s return very clear indeed, and except in dire emergencies arranged to clear her schedule for at least a half a day in order to give them time to relax together on the morning after one returned to the other, something they rarely found time to do on other occasions. Cassandra had her own slate of responsibilities, but on those days she allowed herself to be convinced to ignore the sense of duty that insisted that she be up and active immediately; and in truth she loved these mornings spent lying with Trev in her arms, cuddling, talking, or lazily making love.

Trev was not as marked as Cassandra, but she bore her share of scars. Cassandra liked them; she thought they were badges of courage, and not in the least disfiguring; they showed the Inquisitor’s ability to survive, and the Seeker appreciated every one of them. Sometimes, when she felt especially tender, she would kiss every scar, a silent tribute and sympathy for past pain, and Trev never minded; she seemed to have similar feelings about the marks Cassandra bore.

But on one lazy morning, when she bent her head and touched her lips to a long white line running along Trev’s ribs, she felt the Inquisitor tense. “Don’t,” said Trev.

Cassandra stopped immediately and raised her head in surprise. “Is something wrong?” she said, wondering if she might have tickled her lover inadvertently.

“No,” said Trev, “I just—” and then she stopped and pushed herself upright and swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat there, her back to Cassandra.

A moment before, she had been making her pleasure in what Cassandra was doing very clear. And now... Cassandra was bewildered. She pushed herself up on one elbow. “Trev?”

After a moment of immobility, Trev said, “Sorry. It... suddenly brought back a bad memory.”

It never had done so before. But Cassandra put a hand on Trev’s back, and the Inquisitor took a deep breath and then slowly let it out again. And then she turned, sliding back into the bed beside Cassandra. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“There is no need to be sorry,” said Cassandra. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” said Trev, reaching out. “I want you to make me forget.” And she pulled Cassandra down over her, and held her almost bruisingly hard, and moved against her in a way that made it very clear what she wanted.

Afterwards, she behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And Cassandra could not find the words to ask about it.

*           *           *

Military maneuvers in Emprise du Lion occupied a great deal of their attention for some time and resulted in more than one expedition to deal with issues there. After the taking of Suledin Keep, an important acquisition, there was a great deal to do, and much of it tedious; troops had to be moved in, and almost more importantly, the support staff and merchants who would enable its function. Trev, tense and harried, made it clear privately that she would much prefer to be elsewhere, but dutifully arranged to stay for the first few days until communication and supply lines were established.

On the second day Cassandra found the Inquisitor in the room assigned to her, sitting scowling on a stool before the impromptu table cobbled together from two supply boxes, staring at her notes. She handed her the papers that had come by raven from Leliana. “This requires your attention today,” she said, “so that arrangements can be made as quickly as possible.”

“The council is asking me to decide whether to accept the services of a mercenary band from the Free Marches,” Trev said, scanning them. “They are known as capable, but they are also known for their brutality. Are they such fools that they cannot decide this without my involvement?”

“In the end it makes sense that it be your choice,” said Cassandra mildly, “as their activities could affect the Inquisition’s reputation, and yours, so directly.”

“And I should be responsible for every choice relating to the Inquisition?” said Trev. “This was not in the job description.” It sounded like banter, but there was an edge to her tone.

“It falls under the category of ‘Duties of the Inquisitor,’” said Cassandra. “Perhaps you did not get that note from Josephine?”

She knew that Trev responded badly when duty was thrown in her face, but thought that after all they had gone through the Inquisitor would understand that she was attempting a joke.

But Trev appeared to have no sense of humour about it at the moment. “She did not list ‘decisions that a half-witted snoufleur could make’ as an item,” she snarled, getting to her feet and throwing the papers on the floor. “Why did you bring me this? You have the wit and authority to decide it yourself, instead of pushing the choice onto me because you don’t want the responsibility for making it.”

Cassandra opened her mouth and prepared to shout at Trev, who was being utterly unreasonable and unkind to boot. And then—she stopped. This all felt horribly familiar. She made herself take a deep breath and tried to clear her mind.

“Why are you angry with me?” she said.

The Inquisitor, who was pacing back and forth, stopped dead, and stood unmoving. The Seeker waited, and then waited a little longer; Trev did not move.

“If you are angry with me,” Cassandra said, “I must know why. I must understand if I am to reply to it.”

“I—I am taking things out on you that I should not,” said Trev finally. “I am sorry. That demon unsettled me.”

“The demon of choice?” said Cassandra, in surprise.

“It offered things that I wanted,” Trev said in an expressionless voice.

“What, power? Or riches?” said Cassandra. “I cannot imagine that you seriously considered the virgins.”

It was meant to make Trev laugh, but barely got more than a half smile, and that disappeared quickly.

“Those were only part of what if offered,” she said, “and that was for show. It put a voice in my head and offered me other things as well. It offered... to make my problems go away. Not Corypheus, that would have been unbelievable, but... other problems. It made it all seem very easy, a perfect solution.”

“But you didn’t accept what it offered,” said Cassandra.

“No,” said Trev. “I knew it was lying. I know it’s not that easy. But I _wanted_ to choose it. I _thought_ about choosing it.”

“Your simply wanting something or thinking about it doesn’t have any effect, on its own,” said Cassandra, frowning. “It is meaningless unless you actually do something.” Trev gave her a look that was entirely unreadable.

“I’m well aware of that,” she said, and sighed. “But it makes me feel... Well. I dislike the way it makes me feel. And that makes me angry.”

Trev was surprisingly upset; it showed in the tension in her movements, the pitch of her voice, and in the way her face was strained and drawn. She was not weeping, but it looked as if she should be.

Cassandra thought of Trev’s brother and how many problems he had been causing, and how upset he made the Inquisitor. If anything could be considered a personal problem at the moment, it was Eiric. “Is it Eiric you are upset about?” she said.

“I am angry with Eiric,” said Trev after a moment. “I am always angry with Eiric.”

“What is between you?” Cassandra asked helplessly. “He is a fool and an ass, but it must be more than that. Can you tell me?”

Trev swallowed, looking stricken. “No,” she said finally. “I—I _will_ tell you. But not now. Now—I cannot. I’m sorry.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Trev stared at her and then blinked rapidly. “Yes,” she said. And she came into Cassandra’s arms in a rush. Cassandra wrapped her arms tightly around Trev’s ribs and tucked her face into the crook of Trev’s neck and simply held her until she felt her, slowly, begin to relax.

She wished with all her heart that Trev’s brother would finish his tasks and _leave_. She did not understand why Trev could not explain the problem to her; but the fact that Trev felt she could not frightened her badly.

*           *           *

Empress Celene sent a delegation to discuss matters of policy with the Inquisitor, resulting in a great deal of additional tedium as the Council dealt with them. Cassandra was lucky in that she could avoid most of it, but she had to cope with the fact that Trev was often unavailable, or in a bad mood due to the incessant political discussions. They might be necessary, as she said mournfully to Cassandra, but that did not mean that they were enjoyable.

But on one evening, when Cassandra had left the Inquisitor and delegates talking informally after an official dinner, Leliana found her where she stood speaking with Bull in the courtyard, and said, “Would you mind if I took the Seeker away, Bull? I need her thoughts on something.”

“Of course not,” said Bull, and so Leliana led Cassandra away.

“May we go to your loft?” she said. “The Rookery is not as private a space as I would like for this.”

Cassandra, by now thoroughly curious, led the way to her space above the armoury, and the two of them sat at her table. Leliana pulled a bottle from somewhere, opened it expertly, and poured the contents into two mugs. “This is something Josephine procured,” she said, “and I find it particularly enjoyable.”

It was spiced wine, and by the feel of it on her tongue, a fortified wine. And it was, as Leliana said, very good.

It was not clear what Leliana had intended by this conversation; she led it nimbly through a number of subjects and byways, none of which required privacy to discuss. But half way through the second cup of wine, she finally got to the point.

“We are both candidates for Divine,” she said. “We have very different positions on some things, but I know that we both think there is need for change. In the end, if you are elected, you will have my support, though I will certainly argue with you for the changes I think need to be made. I would like to talk about some of our ideas—not now, after this wine I’m not sure I can think as clearly as I would like—and see where we have common ground, and where we disagree.”

“I would like to do that as well,” said Cassandra, thinking that this sounded like an excellent idea. “If you are elected the same will be true—you will have my support and also my arguments.”

Leliana grinned at her. “That is only what I would expect.” She sobered. “I imagine that there are other candidates that we are not aware of, though I have some suspicions. So it may all come to nothing; but even if someone else is elected such discussions will give us common ground for working with them, especially if they are more conservative in their vision of what the Chantry should be.”

“Who are you thinking of?” said Cassandra, curious.

“I would rather not say,” said Leliana, “as I may well be wrong. And in any case there are likely also to be candidates we know nothing of.” And then she looked at the Seeker and said, “Cassandra, if you are elected, what will you do about Trev?”

Cassandra felt a surge of emotion hit her stomach like a stone dropping into sand. “The Divine must be chaste,” she said, swallowing. “The Divine must be above distractions. If I am elected, I will serve. I will have to...” she trailed off, unable to say it.

“I disagree,” said Leliana after a moment. “I believe that such distractions, as you call them, are what set the foundations for the love that brings us closer to the Maker. I believe that separating the two is part of the problem with the Chantry; we must find the commonality between the best parts of our individual loves and our greater spiritual loves. Not every Divine has been chaste, and the pretence that they have is false and has sometimes done harm. I will not give up Josephine. And I will not pretend to do so, for the sake of appearances. If I am elected I will change Chantry law in this matter.”

Cassandra stared at her. “Do the delegates know this?”

“They have not asked,” said Leliana. “If they do, I will tell them the truth. Cassandra—you could do the same.”

“I—do not think I could,” said Cassandra. The thought was horribly unsettling, and went against everything that she believed. The Divine _must_ divest herself of human connections in order to cleave to her faith. Cassandra had done exactly this during her vigil. She could not imagine the alternative that Leliana suggested. If Trev was in her life she did not think she would be able to maintain the distance that would allow her to fill herself with the presence of the Maker; it would be impossible. But Leliana seemed to think this would be a good thing. She could not understand it.

“Well, consider it,” said the spymaster. “I know that you came to your faith in a certain way, but that does not mean it is the only route, or the best one. But what does Trev think about it?”

“We have not spoken of it,” said Cassandra.

It was Leliana’s turn to stare. “You cannot be serious,” she said.

Cassandra was silent. The truth was that she was afraid to say anything to Trev. And Trev had showed no signs of wishing to discuss the matter. So nothing had been said.

But Leliana was still staring at her. “It did not seem real at first,” Cassandra said finally. “And then we were apart for so long, and there was no point. And since then... it is difficult. We will talk. But now that her brother is here, it is even more difficult, because he is part of the Chantry delegation, and they do not get on. It complicates things.”

“Yes,” said Leliana, “it _is_ difficult. And after her brother leaves there will be another reason not to talk. There will always be another reason. But Cassandra—you _must_ talk to her. And soon. If you do not, what is unspoken may destroy what you have.”

“I have said I will talk to her,” said Cassandra, suddenly very angry. “Do not push me, Leliana.”

“ _Someone_ needs to push you, evidently,” said the spymaster, standing, “though I will leave it for now. But Cassandra—I am pushing because I care for both of you. You have suffered too much; I would not see this destroy you.”

And to that Cassandra could say nothing.

She sat there as Leliana left, feeling thoroughly upset, an unsettling mix of anger and fear and overall distress that she didn’t know what to do with. One of the armoury cats trotted down from the upper loft and miaowed at her; they had taken over her pallet entirely now that she slept most often in the Inquisitor’s quarters, and when Trev was on expedition without her and she did sleep there, she had to be assertive about claiming her space. She picked the cat up and stroked it, trying to calm herself. It was barely more than a kitten, gangly and ridiculous, and it purred at her and settled in her lap, its paws teasing at the stitching on her breeches as she gently ran her hands over its fur. A second cat approached her, and then a third, demanding attention; she smiled and shifted to sit on the floor, her back against a wall, and let them pile over her, warm and reassuring, and shut her eyes. A life where one’s only responsibility was the catching of mice suddenly seemed very attractive.

Eventually she sighed and rose, gently decanting cats in every direction, and made her way to the tavern. It was still a little too early for her to chance the Great Hall on her way to the Inquisitor’s quarters; she would find Iron Bull and talk to him about Qunari fighting styles.

But Bull was in the middle of an argument with Dorian about something, and she didn’t like to interrupt; she was not sure whether the argument was genuine or some kind of complex flirting ritual, and she did not have the energy to deal with it either way. She turned to leave.

“Seeker,” came a voice, and she had turned before she recognized it. Eiric was sitting at a table with the other Chantry delegates, and gestured to an empty chair. She groaned internally but nodded and took the seat he offered. When she saw the Inquisitor later Trev would likely recognize that she was upset—she was sometimes entirely too perceptive about Cassandra’s feelings—and at least this would give her a reason for it.

Eiric was clearly pleased with himself for convincing the Seeker to join them, and voluble with it. He offered her a spiced sweet bun from the plate on the table; it was a kind that Trev particularly liked, saying that they reminded her of some of the better things about the Free Marches. Cassandra wondered how he had convinced the kitchen to make them for him, as he had had so little success with them in the past.

Eiric had a great deal to say. He mentioned his experiences as an apprentice Templar, implying that it was only because of protocol that he had been an apprentice at all, rather than inducted directly as a fully qualified templar, then talked about joining the Chantry, and implied that he had left the Templars for a higher calling. He mentioned the names of several important Orlesians that he had dealings with, including a duchess who apparently had found him utterly irresistible. The other delegates smiled and nodded and watched him with an unrealistic degree of interest; Cassandra suspected that they were not as impressed with his self-importance as he was, and bided their time. Serah Eiric was a social climber, and a clumsy one.

And now he was speaking of Trev, in a jovial and slightly patronizing tone. “Who would have thought my sister would rise to such heights?” he said loudly. “She had little interest in matters of policy and diplomacy when she was young; it is amazing that she has found herself leader of the Inquisition.”

Something about his tone, his language, grated on Cassandra’s nerves; she was already on edge, and his words were a little too close to contemptuous. Clearly he had no idea that Cassandra was Trev’s lover, or he would be more careful with what he said. Or would he? The man was a pompous fool. The other delegates were looking wary. Cassandra’s head had begun to hurt. “We are lucky to have her as Inquisitor,” she said. “She is an excellent strategist and a most effective diplomat.”

Eiric laughed. “I cannot imagine her discussing politics with Orlesians. Does she poke them with her daggers when she gets impatient?”

“Only when they are particularly boorish,” said Cassandra, and stood. “But then, she has more patience than I do. I am afraid I do not suffer fools gladly, and often think she gives them far too much leeway. You must excuse me, Serah Eiric; it has been a long day and I must rise early.” She glanced past his shoulder and saw Sera, sitting at the next table with Scout Harding, frowning at Trev’s brother, an unreadable expression on her face.

There were few people left in the Great Hall, and they were all people who knew of her relationship with the Inquisitor; she slipped through the door to Trev’s quarters and made her way up the stairs. She found Trev sitting by the fire, looking tired and irritable. “Thank the Maker you’re here,” she said when she saw Cassandra. “Talk to me about something foolish that Dorian has said, or that Sera has done, or Maryden’s latest composition. I need to get the taste of Orlesian diplomacy out of my mouth, and these only half do it.” She passed a plate of sweet buns to Cassandra.

They were the same kind of buns that Eiric had had in the Herald’s Rest.

“Did the cooks bake a big batch of these for some occasion?” she asked.

“No,” said Trev, “I asked them to make some for me specially; I wanted cheering up. Why?”

“Eiric had these kinds of buns in the tavern,” said Cassandra, frowning.

Trev shut her eyes. “Damn the man. He must have gotten them from my private pantry. He always had the attitude that what was mine was his, and evidently that has not changed.”

Cassandra was appalled; she and Trev and the councillors all had private lockers in the main pantry where they kept foods special to them; to raid another person’s stores was the height of rudeness and disrespect. She looked at Trev’s face, which had gone from tired and irritated to closed and angry, and thought to herself that this was certainly not a good night for a heart to heart talk with Trev about her candidacy for election.

*           *           *

Cole had become less strange over the past months; Varric said that he was becoming a human boy. Cassandra was not sure if that was true, but whatever he was, she had grown to like him, a fact that sometimes astonished her. Cole had issues of his own to deal with now, and spent less time listening to their thoughts and more time actually conversing, which helped considerably.

“So, Cole, you’ve forgiven the Templar who... killed you?” she said, as they walked through the trails of the Emerald Groves.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him,” said Cole. “But I can live with him. Killing him won’t make anything better. It’s more complicated than that.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you admit anything is complicated,” said Cassandra.

“I don’t understand all of it,” he said. “I’m trying.” After a moment he said, “ _Pain_ is complicated. It holds sadness. It holds anger. It holds hatred. Things are connected, tied in a tangle. Fixing one thing might break something else. It is _all_ complicated,” he said finally, sounding frustrated. “Does it get easier?”

Cassandra sighed. “No. But one tries to learn to cope.”

*           *           *

It was two days after their return to Skyhold, when she was emerging from the Undercroft, that Cassandra saw Trev’s brother, or rather, heard him, and followed the sound of shouting through the Great Hall. It turned out that he was shouting at Josephine, who looked a little flustered but entirely unintimidated.

“Is something wrong?” said Cassandra, and he turned to her. His face was suffused with colour, but he made an effort to control himself.

“Someone,” he said through his teeth, “has drawn indecent pictures of m—has drawn indecent pictures throughout all of my Chantry documents.”

“Ah,” said Cassandra.

“I have been explaining to Serah Eiric,” said Josephine, “that there is an unknown prankster in the keep.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “They are very clever, and very elusive. It is a shame that we have never been able to determine who the culprit is. I was not pleased on the day that I found pink paint on all of my armour; it took quite some time to get it off.”

“Is something wrong?” said Leliana, behind Serah Eiric. “I could hear the noise up in the Rookery.”

“The prankster struck again,” said Josephine. “Serah Eiric has found indecent drawings in his documents.”

“I see, said Leliana. “Well, Serah Eiric, I am sorry that you have experienced this, but at least you have the consolation of knowing that you are not alone; many of us have encountered the work of this villain.” And then she said to Josephine, “My love, I must speak to you about some matters regarding resources.”

“Of course,” said Josephine. “Do you have time now?”

Eiric looked between the two of them and shut the mouth he had opened in preparation for shouting again. Perhaps he had remembered their relationship, or only just realized that it existed, and decided that it would not be advisable to anger the Left Hand of the Divine by screaming abuse at her lover. He said nothing as they all walked away from him.

Cassandra smiled quietly to herself as she went. There was a bolt of fine red silk at one of the merchant stalls that she thought might make a particularly nice gift for Sera.

*           *           *

Late one night, when few people were still around, Vivienne caught Cassandra in the Great Hall and beckoned her into a discreet nook. “The Inquisitor’s brother is obsessed with her, my dear,” she said quietly. “His public hatred of her is doing him no good in Skyhold; and it is a weakness that can be exploited, should you choose to do so.”

Cassandra stared at her. Vivienne had seemed to enjoy Eiric’s company, but now she was offering advice on how to harm him. “I cannot understand how you can bear to spend so much time with the man,” she said.

“It is always a good thing to understand another player of the Game,” said Vivienne. “Especially their weaknesses. And Serah Eiric has many: he is an incompetent who has been promoted into a position of some authority only because so many died at the Conclave. It has inflated his sense of self-importance greatly and also made him insecure; this makes him easy to manipulate.”

“Well, you would understand how to do that far better than I,” grumbled Cassandra. “I have no skills for such things. The man just annoys me.”

Vivienne gave her a cat-like smile, and said only, “Indeed.”

*           *           *

“That brother of the Inquisitor is a bullshitter,” said Bull to Cassandra one day, as they were sitting cooling down after a sparring match. “He talks a great line about what he did when he was almost a Templar, but it’s all crap. Oh, he was probably a good fighter at one time, but he’s flabby now. And every time he opens his mouth about it he shows how much he doesn’t know.”

“He is certainly opinionated,” said Cassandra. “He has been giving me tips on how to improve my style.”

“I invited him to spar,” said Bull, spitting. “He refused, said he’s too busy, said it would be inappropriate for a Chantry delegate. Bastard knows what would happen if he accepted, and it wouldn’t be pretty. It’s a shame.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “You would have drawn a crowd to watch such a bout, I think. Certainly I would have been there.”

They sat in companionable silence, cheered by the image. Finally Bull sighed. “Well, he’s never likely to put himself in a position where he can be made a fool of. He may be stupid, but he’s not quite _that_ stupid. Too bad.”

And Cassandra could only agree.

*           *           *

“Did you ever learn anything about Eiric?” said Cassandra. The thought had crossed her mind that if Leliana’s investigations had turned anything up, the man might be blackmailed into leaving. She had dismissed the idea quickly, as dishonourable; but a part of her wished plaintively that she did not have quite such high ethical standards.

“Nothing of note,” said the spymaster. “I was right to think that he was a very low-level functionary who is now operating well beyond his level; he occupied a very minor position and had not succeeded in advancing for some time. The only unusual thing was his undergarments.”

“Undergarments?” said Cassandra blankly.

“Mm,” said Leliana. “He travels with a corset of sorts; not the same kind as a woman would wear, but a kind of girdle to constrain the belly and force it into a narrower and more manly silhouette. It is a good thing he is no longer a warrior, as such a thing would constrain his breathing. And some of his clothing is padded strategically. But there is no law against that.” She gave Cassandra an enigmatic smile and moved on.

Cassandra blinked. She thought that perhaps her life had been too sheltered to cope with the idea of Serah Eiric’s undergarments.

*           *           *

Trev for the most part maintained a high level of civility toward her brother, if not warmth, but Eiric was not so careful, and trod a very fine line between coolness and rudeness. Sometimes, as far as Cassandra was concerned, he crossed the line.

And he insisted on pursuing Cassandra. It made sense in some ways—he was head of the Chantry delegation tasked with interviewing them, of course—but he seemed to carry it further than necessary. He sometimes seemed almost to be lurking in wait for her. Was he so persistent with Leliana? She suspected not; he seemed infatuated with the story of her youthful heroics and dragonslaying, and Leliana, while famous in her own way, was not as romantically famous in the eyes of the populace as the Hero of Orlais. He also always seemed to be trying to get information on Trev; despite his evident dislike, as Vivienne said, he seemed to have a fascination with her. It was a curiosity Cassandra was not inclined to satisfy.

And now here he was again, intercepting her in the Great Hall as she left Josephine’s office, wanting to speak with her about nothing of importance.

“I see that Evelyn wears daggers now,” he was saying. “She trained with sword and shield when she was young, but she never became very expert at it; she could not stand up to me, and certainly would have had no chance with an expert like yourself. I expect that daggers are more her size. Does she ever actually fight with them?”

The Inquisitor was passing close by at the time. Cassandra, from the corner of her eye, saw Trev stop in her tracks and stare at him, gone dreadfully still, though her face remained expressionless; she must have heard what he said. And then she walked on without speaking. Cassandra thought that despite his averted face he was well aware of Trev’s presence, and that the words had been largely for her benefit.

She was suddenly furious. She said only, “Certainly she fights with them, and very effectively, as a large number of her enemies have had occasion to discover. She is one of the quickest and most accomplished knife fighters that I have ever seen.” But she was not entirely successful at hiding her anger.

“I do not mean to give offense,” he said, smiling insincerely. “It is hard to imagine someone I knew as clumsy and ineffective having achieved high levels of skill; the perils of always seeing my sister as a younger, inexperienced sibling, I expect. And knives are not swords, so I know little about their effectiveness. But she is lucky to have such a staunch defender as yourself.” He managed to make it sound as if daggers were a child’s toy, and that any successes Trev might have had were solely the result of Cassandra’s protection.

“Oh,” said Cassandra, “I hardly think Trev is in need of a defender.” And she nodded brusquely to him and walked away.

“Your brother is a fool,” she said to Trev a little later, when she found her standing in the lower bailey talking to Bonny Sims, and the Inquisitor gave a half smile and nodded. But then the councillors found them, and Josephine and Leliana needed the Inquisitor’s attention on some matter, and Cullen wanted to thrash some ideas for dealing with the templars they had recruited out with Cassandra, and they went their separate ways. It was hours later, late in the afternoon, before Cassandra was free again and went looking for Trev, and could not find her.

She could not find her anywhere. The gate guards said she had not passed, so she must be somewhere in Skyhold; but she was not in her quarters, or the War Room, or the Undercroft, or any of her usual haunts. Nor was she in any of the more unusual places she sometimes visited. Cassandra knew that Trev often went to the battlements when she was upset, but there was no sign of her there, nor was she hidden in the old library behind a pile of dusty books.

At first it was simply a puzzle, but after a time Cassandra began to worry. She did not think there were any hidden places in the keep that she was not aware of. But she could not find Trev.

No one else had recently seen her, either, apparently; Bull and Sera said that she had not been in the tavern, the councillors had not seen her since their meeting earlier, Mother Giselle said that she had not been in the gardens. Ser Morriss shook his head when asked. Cole might have known, but she could not find him. But then she thought to ask Harding, who had noticed Trev crossing the yard, and finally she made her way down the stairs to the gaol.

As usual, it was a quiet place; there were one or two prisoners sleeping off a drunk, and the gaoler. “Have you seen the Inquisitor?” the Seeker asked.

The gaoler, a relaxed woman who spent much of her time reading, looked uncomfortable. She looked at Cassandra and said, “She is not here,” and then looked pointedly at the door at the end of the hall. The Seeker nodded and stepped by her.

It was the last place Cassandra would have thought of looking, but when she opened the door—yes, Trev was there, sitting on a pile of rubble and watching the great waterfall. Cassandra shut the door behind her and picked her way over the debris to the Inquisitor’s side.

“I told the gaoler not to tell anyone I was here,” Trev said. It was hard to hear her over the water’s roar.

“She did not,” said Cassandra. “In fact, she said that you were not here. But I chose to look for myself.” She stood looking down at the Inquisitor. Trev’s eyes and nose were red; she had been weeping, though she was not doing so now.

The Inquisitor’s quarters had a door that would lock, and if she wanted privacy in which to cry it was easy for her to shoot the bolt and do so; no one would challenge that. No one except perhaps...

There was no reason for her to come here to weep, unless she wanted to hide it from Cassandra. The Seeker felt her stomach tighten with fear.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked.

“No,” said the Inquisitor, and looked away.

It was not exactly welcoming, but neither was it a rejection. Cassandra found herself a seat on a fallen stone next to Trev, and waited.

When the Inquisitor finally spoke again her voice was low and even harder to hear over the roar of the falls, which were loud enough to batter the words from the inside of one’s skull; Cassandra leaned closer.

“My brother tries my patience in ways that are hard for others to understand, I think.”

“Your brother,” said Cassandra, “would try the patience of Andraste herself. He is a pompous ass. I find that when I am with him I can only tolerate his presence if I distract myself by imagining all the ways in which he could be embarrassed. Or hit.”

Trev gave a cracked laugh, as Cassandra had meant her to, and her shoulders dropped slightly. Cassandra put a hand on her arm. “There is a formal dinner tonight, but I think that you must miss it; I have received some reports that must be discussed. We can do so in your quarters. Will you come with me and hear them?”

Trev snorted. “And you claim to have no diplomatic skills,” she said.

“Josephine has been giving me lessons,” said Cassandra equably, rising and putting out a hand to pull the Inquisitor to her feet.

They encountered Josephine on the stairs of the keep. “The Inquisitor and I must confer over some reports tonight, without disturbance,” said Cassandra, delaying to speak to her as Trev continued into the Great Hall, “and so we will take our meal in her quarters. Will you convey our apologies to Serah Eiric and the other members of the delegation?”

“I would be delighted to,” said the Ambassador. “I will emphasize the importance of your discussions to him. And I will arrange with the kitchens to have dinner sent.”

“Thank you,” said Cassandra fervently, and turned away.

“Cassandra,” said Josephine then, frowning threateningly, “given that it is Serah Eiric, you will owe me for this.” But there was a twinkle in her eyes. Cassandra flashed her a half-smile and followed Trev.

*           *           *

Trev said very little after they went to her quarters. She settled at her desk, saying that there were letters she needed to deal with, and worked until their dinner came. Cassandra read a book, or pretended to do so. She kept thinking of Trev by the waterfall, hiding. Why would she hide her tears from her lover? Was she angry? Was she upset at Cassandra? But Trev had not sent her away; she had not resisted Cassandra’s suggestion that they retreat to her quarters, and indeed seemed glad of it.

Cassandra did not understand, and the knot of fear in her stomach sat there like a dragon crouching over a kill.

They ate in silence, and afterwards Trev gave a sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My brother upsets me, and I do not want to burden you with it.”

“It is not a burden,” said Cassandra. “I only wish that there was something I could do.”

Trev turned her head and gave her a small smile. “You do a great deal,” she said, “by being here with me. You have no idea how much that helps.”

Cassandra felt the knot inside her relax a little. Perhaps it was all right after all. And Trev was standing, and holding out her hand. “It is still early,” she said. “We could sit up, but I find that I want you in bed, and sooner rather than later. Would you find that an agreeable way to spend the rest of the evening?”

Cassandra felt the corners of her lips curl up slightly. “It is very agreeable to me.” She took Trev’s hand, and let the Inquisitor pull her to her feet. Trev took hold of Cassandra’s collar, pulled her in close, and began to kiss her. Cassandra set her hands on Trev’s hips and then let her fingers roam, felt her lover press against her. “Most agreeable,” murmured Cassandra, and felt Trev’s silent laugh, and then her hands, loosening the Seeker’s clothes.

In a surprisingly short period of time Trev managed to get Cassandra out of her clothing and into the bed, and by then her breath already coming fast. She arched into Trev’s touch as the Inquisitor’s hands ran over her body, touching and teasing; she loved the authority of Trev’s fingers, the sureness of her touch. She ran her hands over Trev’s flanks and heard her breathing catch, felt teeth run across her collarbone.

And then Trev bit her.

It was not nearly hard enough to do damage, but it was a half-painful nip in a tender place, enough to make her yelp. “What are you doing?” she said.

Trev bit her again. Cassandra made a frustrated noise and tried to pull away, but Trev had her in a firm grip and would not let her escape, and now the Seeker could feel teeth on her throat. Annoyed, she twisted, and rolled over, using her weight to pin Trev, feeling the Inquisitor squirm under her, her body bucking to throw the Seeker off, trying to catch Cassandra’s wrists to prevent her from using leverage. Cassandra was in a better position and countered, catching the Inquisitor’s wrists instead, raised herself enough to use her body weight to advantage, and finally had Trev completely pinned.

Trev’s body hummed with tension under Cassandra, but she had stopped struggling and she was staring at her with a glassy expression that the Seeker could not read. Baffled, Cassandra stared back. How had this turned into a wrestling match? Did Trev want her to stop making love? Was she angry? She did not want to hurt Trev, or do anything to distress her. She cautiously released one wrist.

And then Trev’s hand caught hers, and pulled it between her legs, and as Cassandra moved her hand Trev growled and rose up against her and bit her again, and said, “Please,” and some feral part of Cassandra understood, and reacted.

It was rough and clumsy, but that did not matter. Trev bit and scratched, forcing Cassandra to use her strength and weight when she could to defend herself, but the Seeker knew she would bear marks the next day. It did not matter. In the end she felt Trev’s teeth press hard against her shoulder, felt Trev move and shudder under her hand, and finally the dreadful tension gave way.

Cassandra rolled over, pulling Trev on top of her, where she lay sprawled and panting and bonelessly trembling. She wrapped as much of herself around Trev as she could, arms, legs, and simply held her until her breathing began to settle, her hands slowly moving and gentling her lover.

Trev said nothing; but after a time she began to touch Cassandra, the gentleness of her hands and mouth completely at odds with what had gone before, until finally Cassandra shattered under her touch, and found herself again. And later they made love again, in tender silence, and then finally slept.

In the morning, dressing, Cassandra heard Trev make an odd sound behind her, and turned; the Inquisitor looked at her and began to turn red. “I... marked you last night,” she said. “It must sting. I have salve that I can put on it—”

“It’s all right,” said Cassandra truthfully. “I scarcely notice it.”

But Trev insisted on the salve, and found it, and rubbed it over Cassandra’s back. And when she had finished and Cassandra was fastening her shirt, Trev looked at her, and said, “Last night—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” And then she sank into silence.

“Trev,” said Cassandra, “It’s all right.”

And Trev took a deep breath and said, “Thank you.” And Cassandra thought that she was not being thanked for her words, but for something else that she had not known she had given.

*           *           *

“Anger is a shield,” said Cole. “Hard, bright, weapons bounce off and strike others, shifting, shattering. If I strike first I will not be harmed. But it is not true. Pain hurts. Anger hurts. Pain presses against the pulse, strangles and suffocates. I made mistakes. I could have done something else. I could have done something. Cassandra, why is it easier to forgive others than yourself?”

“I do not know,” said Cassandra after a moment. “But it is very human. You are more and more of a person every day, Cole.”

“Oh,” he said, “I know. People see me now. I am learning. But those words are not mine.”

*           *           *

Cassandra stood in the Grand Hall, wondering how soon she could possibly escape Trev’s brother. It was not simply that he was boring; his level of sycophantism was cloying in its extremity. He might treat Trev badly, but he was always respectful to Cassandra, and his constant agreement with her in all things was tiresome.

They were standing near the head of the dragon that Trev had hung in the Hall, and now he was gesturing up at it. “Your family is known for its dragon hunting prowess,” he said. “and you of course are respected for it in particular. Will you tell the tale of how you took this dragon?”

“That is not one of mine,” said Cassandra truthfully. “It is one of the Inquisitor’s kills. You will have to ask her for the story.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then the man said blankly, “Evelyn... killed this dragon?”

“Yes,” said Cassandra, and a degree of satisfaction with his obvious surprise led her to say consideringly, “We have not compared our counts recently, but I believe she is coming close to catching up with me.” And then, sensing an escape route, she said, “My apologies, Serah Eiric, I see the Ambassador, and there is something I must ask her. Please excuse me.” And she left him gaping.

It was... most satisfying.

*           *           *

The screaming was probably audible through most of the hold. By the time Cassandra found the source it had dropped in timbre to a roar, and was less piercing, if every bit as loud, and had become distinguishable curses. She joined the other onlookers in the vault in Skyhold’s depths—and there were many of them—to see....

Oh.

Serah Eiric stood by the door to the Inquisitor’s wine cellar, barely recognizable, dripping with pink paint. His face and hair were a sea of pink goo; only his eyes, an interesting contrast in their bloodshot redness, stood out.

“What happened?” said Cassandra, but he only pushed past her with a growl.

Sera, standing next to her, had a pleased smile on her face. “I hear Dagna’s been experimenting with grenades,” she said. “Bugger’s been lifting wine from the Inquisitor’s stores. Guess he got the wrong bottle.”

When questioned, Dagna was the picture of innocence. Yes, she had been experimenting with grenades. A booby-trapped wine bottle had seemed like a good idea for use in certain circumstances. In the early stages of her experiments she never used _lethal_ ingredients; that would be most unwise. She had been using pink paint, which was convenient for this test as its bright colour gave a visible demonstration of the grenade’s area of effectiveness. Pink was her favourite colour. She re-used old wine bottles for her experiments, and did not bother to remove the labels. What would be the point? Generally she used bottles of excellent vintages, as the quality of the glass tended to be better. She thought that this bottle might have been from a particularly rare and valuable vintage. She had no idea how the booby-trapped bottle had made its way to the Inquisitor’s cellar, but she would _certainly_ be more careful with the security around her experiments in the future. And would the Inquisitor like a good lock for her wine stores?

The paint turned out to be persistent; Cassandra had gotten a little on her armour as Trev’s brother pushed past her, and it took considerable time and effort to get it off. On skin it was more difficult, as one could not use abrasives, and Eiric’s complexion, as well as his fine clothes, remained a memorable colour for some days, as did his temper.

The scent—that used on dragon bait in the Western Approach—lasted even longer, and was particularly noxious. This led to great joviality in the tavern. “Mind if we use you as bait on our next expedition, serah?” roared Bull, and the joke was widely taken up.

But this time Eiric did not place an official complaint with Josephine; it would, after all, have been difficult to do so without explaining why he was taking a bottle from the Inquisitor’s personal stores.

*           *           *

Cassandra became aware that Lace Harding had begun to occasionally spend time with Eiric, which puzzled her greatly; the scout was hard-headed and did not suffer fools. Yet there she was, sitting next to him and assuming an expression of great interest and asking leading questions. And there was Serah Eiric, telling more and more stories about his heroic past and the battles he had fought, and at a volume that was clearly audible to all around. _All unlikely stories, and if they did happen it was a considerable time in the past, judging by the look of him now_ , Cassandra thought spitefully to herself. She could not imagine how Harding could bear to listen.

But then the ballad appeared.

A traveller brought it to Skyhold, and sang it during one of the raucous singarounds that happened occasionally when Maryden was not performing. It had a well-known old tune but did not use the traditional words. Instead it recounted the tale of a foolish cleric who thought himself a warrior, got himself into trouble repeatedly, and constantly had to be rescued, yet still thought himself a hero. It had a rollicking chorus that was enthusiastically taken up.

Cassandra, in a discussion about lyrium with Varric, was not paying a great deal of attention. But when the verse about the corset was sung, her head shot up, and she abruptly began to listen. The next verse described a particular heroic exploit gone horribly wrong...

“Interesting song, Seeker?” said Varric, and she looked at him. He had an exceedingly smug smile on his face. She scowled at him.

“It sounds surprisingly like a story I have heard recently in the tavern,” she said, “with a few changes.”

“Well, you know stories,” said Varric complacently. “The best ones have all kinds of variants. They are very adaptable to circumstances.”

She looked round the room and spotted Eiric. He was staring at the singer, and had gone very still. His assistants were carefully not looking at him, and appeared to be discussing something important between themselves. And then Trev’s brother stood abruptly and quietly left the tavern.

The traveller moved on in a day or two and was forgotten, but by that time the ballad had been learned by many and had become a favourite with the tavern regulars, and thereafter was sung quite often, especially after Maryden took it up.

Cassandra was not absolutely certain, but she thought that it was more likely to be sung when Eiric was present. Perhaps it was because Varric developed a habit of buying a round for the house when it was sung in Eiric’s presence.

*           *           *

The dragon of fear in Cassandra’s belly appeared to have taken up permanent residence, knotting its tail through her guts and using its teeth and claws with increasing frequency. Trev was still loving, still wanted her, but she was not the person she had been. She was tense and unhappy and silent far too much of the time. Cassandra thought that she must have her own dragon curled in inconvenient and uncomfortable places.

But Trev had also made it clear that she was not prepared to speak to Cassandra of the things that upset her, and that made it much worse. It was as if she had in some strange way become absent even when they were closest to each other. Cassandra did not know what to do. At each lash of the dragon’s tail she felt as if they were loving each other and falling away from each other all at the same time.

Trev went on expedition with Bull, Sera and Vivienne, while Cassandra went out with Blackwall, Varric and Dorian. The Seeker’s party returned first. But the day after their return Cassandra went into the tavern to speak to Krem, and was disconcerted to find Iron Bull in his usual corner, looking battered. “I have not seen the Inquisitor,” she said, frowning. Trev usually found her as soon as she returned to Skyhold; for her not to do so was unusual, and it worried her.

“She’s not back yet,” said Bull, grimacing as he moved; one arm was bandaged, she noticed, the bindings holding it tight across his chest. “She sent me back with a couple of scouts to report to the Council, but the rest of them are still out there. We got in this morning. I thought they would have said something to you, or I’d have found you myself.”

Cassandra’s frown grew even deeper. “Why did they stay out and send you back?”

“Broken arm,” he said succinctly. “The bone’s still weak, so I’m not much good for a few days. She stayed out because there’s a Venatori stronghold she wants to take.”

“With no warrior with them, just Sera and Vivienne?” said Cassandra in disbelief. “That is not safe!”

“It’s not something I would try, and I don’t think Madame de Fer liked it much,” said Bull. “But the Inquisitor—”

“Tell me where they are,” said Cassandra. “Exactly. And what their plans were.”

She rode out an hour later, taking two horses, and rode long into the night.

*           *           *

The scouts told her where the Venatori nest was; the Inquisitor had only gone to deal with it on the morning of the day that Cassandra found their camp. She changed her horses, which were close to foundering under her, for a fresh mount, and rode on.

She found Sera standing over Trev, holding off a group of knife fighters, but her arrows were running out, and it would not have been long before they overran her. Vivienne was some little distance away, fighting methodically and efficiently, but she could only cope with so much.

Cassandra hit them like a herd of druffalo. Two she disabled immediately, taking them from behind with one carefully placed swing of her sword. She was not sure if she had killed them but it did not matter; they were certainly beyond doing any more harm. The Venatori defenders did their best, but by then she was both frightened for Trev and angry, and that made her unstoppable. They did not have a chance.

When the last one fell she hurried to where Sera knelt, tipping a potion into Trev’s mouth. “Andraste’s tits,” said the elf, “that was too bloody close.”

Trev was alive and not seriously harmed, but unconscious. Cassandra’s fear was replaced by pure anger. “What were you thinking of?” she shouted at Sera. “How could you even think of attacking a place like this without a warrior?”

“I was certainly not in favour of it myself,” said Vivienne joining them. “But you know, my dear, the Inquisitor can be very stubborn.”

“There is stubbornness and there is pure foolishness,” muttered Cassandra.

The Venatori had commandeered one of the deserted outposts that were common throughout the region, an easily defensible stronghold built half into a cave. They had all come out to attack the Inquisitor’s party, seeing it so small, and left no one to guard the entrance; if Cassandra had not come along it would not have been much of a risk.

Cassandra carried Trev inside, found a room with a bed and laid Trev on it; the others followed her. “She’ll be awake in a little time,” said Vivienne, casting an expert eye over the Inquisitor,” and we should be able to return to our camp an hour or two after that.”

“No,” said Cassandra. The other two looked at her, and she glowered at them. “The two of you will go back. The Inquisitor and I will stay here tonight. It is safe; the Venatori are gone, and this place is easily defensible. I ask only that you help me deal with the bodies before you go, Madame de Fer.”

“There is no need for you to stay,” said Vivienne. “She will be able to travel, if she does not overtire herself, and you have a horse she can ride.”

“That may be,” said Cassandra. “But I have things I wish to say to her. Privately. Before we return.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “I see. I think that you are probably right to do so. If you do not return tomorrow by mid-day, I will send a party to find you.”

Sera laughed. “Oo, someone’s going to catch it. I’d like to hear that.” Cassandra looked at her. “All right, all right, I’m not staying!”

They helped her pile the bodies, and then Vivienne muttered and gestured with her staff, and the fire came, and they were consumed. Cassandra watched the two of them until they were out of sight—they were already bickering—and then returned to the outpost.

Trev was covered in blood, whether her own or that of her enemies, and was beginning to mumble her way toward wakefulness. Cassandra checked the shelter’s supplies. There were barrels of water, wood, and plenty of food; the Venatori had kept it well stocked. It would be useful to Inquisition forces. She stabled her horse, removed its tack and rubbed it down, found some grain to feed it and water for its bucket, and then returned to the Inquisitor, who was trying to sit up. Cassandra moved to give her a hand.

“Cassandra?” Trev’s voice was slurred, and confused.

“Yes,” she said. “Everything is fine.” It was a lie; it didn’t matter. “Vivienne and Sera have gone back to the main camp; we’ll follow them tomorrow.”

“I’ll be able to travel in a little,” Trev said, her words already coming clearer.

“Tomorrow,” said Cassandra. “I want to clean up. The blood itches. And you’re even messier than I am.” She poured water into a basin and found rags, and removed her armour and began to clean it. When she finished she would get fresh water and clean herself.

Trev sighed and began, clumsily, to pull her armour and leathers off and prepare to do the same. It was a familiar routine; the only unfamiliar thing was that they had not returned to camp to do it.

While Trev finished washing herself Cassandra investigated the Venatori’s food supplies; there was a stew simmering over the fire, though that had died down to embers and it had begun to cool. She tasted it and found it good, and built the fire up again. It would be a decent dinner for them.

It was a good dinner. And in all the time that it took to clean their gear and wash themselves and prepare the meal, Trev had not asked Cassandra how she had come to be there. And she did not eat much of the stew. Cassandra herself had little appetite, but forced herself to eat. And when they finished she put her bowl aside and looked at Trev.

“Why did you go to clear out the Venatori with only the three of you, without a warrior to break their line?” she said.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Trev, with a half grin.

Cassandra restrained herself from tipping the table over. It was an effort. “No,” she said instead. “I do not believe that. You are not a fool. I know that Vivienne argued against it. Do not play games, Trev.”

The Inquisitor stared at her. She was no longer smiling.

“Is it Eiric?” said Cassandra. “You have not been the same since he arrived.” Trev said nothing, only stood abruptly and walked to the door, and opened it, and for one terrifying moment Cassandra thought that she would not stop, that she would choose to walk away. But she did not pass through; she only stood in the doorway, neither inside nor out, staring into the distance.

“Trev,” said Cassandra desperately, “I sent them away so that we could talk. I do not understand what is happening. But I know that if we do not talk, if we do not find a way to understand, there will be nothing left for us.”

For a moment she thought that her gamble had failed, that she would be left with nothing, for Trev did not move or respond; but then she heard the Inquisitor take a deep breath.

“I was angry,” said Trev. “And when I am angry I get careless.”

“When you are angry and unhappy,” said Cassandra, “you are reckless with your life.”

Trev did not deny it; she said nothing.

“It frightens me,” said Cassandra gently. “And that makes me angry as well, and I do not want to be angry with you.” She heard Trev swallow. There was a long silence.

“Taking the outpost was an excuse,” Trev said finally, without turning. “I didn’t want to go back to Skyhold. There is too much—” And then she stopped.

When she began to speak again her voice was calm and distant; she spoke as if reciting a rather dull lesson. “You asked about my history with Eiric. I am the youngest of four children, and the only girl. Eiric is the next youngest, and he is ten years older than I am; I was... unexpected. My father was delighted by my birth, and when I was very young he spoiled me, and made me his favourite, which did not endear me to my brothers.”

She turned and walked back into the room, and sat back down in the chair across from Cassandra and folded her hands on the table. Her face was calm and expressionless and seemed absolutely indifferent. But Cassandra could see the faintest of tremors in her fingers. “The Trevelyan family is both pious and ambitious: apart from the heir, it is traditional for children to join the Chantry, and to take advantage of every opportunity for advancement. My family began to groom me for it at an early age; there was a possibility that I could ascend to very high rank, unlike my brothers, and they were determined that I should do so.” She looked down at her hands where they rested on the table, folded together with careful precision. “They had _ambitions_ for me,” she said bitterly.

“This is a tradition that no one questions. Or no one, apparently, except me. I did not want to join the Chantry. You know some of this, you know my reasons, I’ve spoken of it before—I do not believe, and I cannot make a life based on the pretense that I do. I _will_ not do so. When I refused to accept their demands... things did not go well. They made it clear to me that my desires, my will, my lack of belief, were all of no importance. I was a tool. My function was to extend my family’s power, and do so to the best of my ability. They made it clear that this was my duty, my only duty, and that my position as a favoured, much loved child was contingent on obedience. I did not understand; until then I had been thoroughly spoiled, and allowed to do as I wished. But still I refused, and things became more and more difficult. I lost my father’s favour, and more—he no longer speaks to me, and has not done so for years. My mother will not cross my father’s will. I have not _quite_ been disowned for my disloyalty—but only, I think, because they had hoped that I might someday come to my senses.” She gave a crooked smile that did not reach her eyes and looked at Cassandra for the first time. “I know that you do not understand my attitudes towards duty,” she said. “I am afraid that they have been shaped by my family. I react badly when _duty_ is thrown in my face.”

“But duty is a choice,” said Cassandra slowly, “a gift of the self, freely given. If it is coerced... one may be reminded of one’s duty, but if one is forced it is no longer a gift. It is slavery.”

“That is not how my family sees it,” said Trev. “They believe that if one does not accept one’s duty, one _must_ be coerced in every way possible. And they are very thorough in their attempts at coercion.”

“Will none of them accept your choice?”

“No,” said Trev. “My brothers... my family has never forgiven me for my stubbornness, and in the case of my brothers, I think perhaps they resent that I have insisted on choices that they felt unable to make. Eiric...”

She stopped speaking. Cassandra could see the fine muscles of her jaw moving and then setting, as if she were repeatedly about to speak and then stopping. The Seeker said nothing. When Trev was willing to speak, when she was able to speak, she would. Cassandra would wait as long as was necessary. She thought of putting her hand on Trev’s, and then did not; there was something brittle in the Inquisitor’s manner, and she was afraid that if she touched her she would stop talking.

“Eiric in particular hated me for it,” said Trev finally. “And we have... an additional history. He changed his mind frequently when he was young, about how exactly he wished to serve. But eventually he became determined to become a Templar, and worked hard to become worthy of the order. He was recruited when I was twelve years old; he was older than usual for an apprentice, but had convinced them of his potential. He returned home two years later. The Templars had rejected him; I have never known all the details of why, but I once overheard my father say something about insubordination. It doesn’t surprise me; Eiric has always thought he knows better than others, and the only person whose will he is afraid to cross is my father’s.

“In any case, when he returned my father put him in charge of my weapons training. My father did not turn me out for my disobedience; I was too young, and there would have been scandal. But he said that if I would refuse my duty I might as well learn the skills that would allow me to be used as a tool by other lords, as that would be my life.” She gave a bitter half smile. “He did not realize that this was exactly what I wanted. But—but he set Eiric to teach me.” And then she stopped abruptly. Her hands were clenched, and Cassandra could see white on her knuckles.

“Trev?” said Cassandra after a moment.

The Inquisitor let out a breath. “Eiric trained me for two years. He had learned a great deal with the Templars. He had learned exactly where and how to strike to cause pain, and how to do so without leaving a mark. Or at least no more of a mark than would be expected from weapons training. For the most part, at least. He did leave one scar, by mistake. The one that you... But he blamed that one on my clumsiness.”

Cassandra opened her mouth, but could find no words.

“I told my father, once, after the first six months,” said Trev. “But when my father questioned him Eiric said that it was because I was weak, and a coward when it came to pain. My father chose to believe him.” She gave another smile that was not a smile. “My father was angry with me at the time, because I had once again made it clear that I would never join the Chantry, and I think that made him wish to believe what Eiric said. Or perhaps he knew what Eiric was doing and thought I should suffer for my disobedience, for resisting my _duty_. Sometimes I am sure that he did know.

“I think that Eiric expected me to be a coward in truth, and ask to stop the training. I think that they both did. And in truth, I thought they were right, and that I _was_ a coward. Eiric kept telling me that I was a coward, because I was afraid of the pain, and I believed him. I didn’t understand. But I wanted the freedom, the choices that it would give me, the escape from being my family’s tool, and I can be very stubborn. So I didn’t ask. I think that made Eiric even angrier, and... It was only after he left again to go to the Chantry as a bureaucrat, and I began to receive training from someone else, that I understood that the pain was not necessary.”

There was a hot yellow band pressing around Cassandra’s skull. She reached out and squeezed Trev’s fist. “If you do not wish to do it yourself,” she said finally, “I would be happy to thrash him for you. Painfully.”

Trev finally looked up, and gave her a crooked smile, a real one this time. “I doubt that it would be politically advisable for either of us to do it,” she said. “But if I change my mind you will certainly be the first person I call on.”

They sat in silence, and after a bit Cassandra said, “You have never spoken of this before.”

“No,” said Trev. “I have told no one. It’s all in the past. I wanted to forget it.” She hesitated, then said painfully, “I was ashamed.”

Cassandra stared. “ _You_ are not the one who should be ashamed.”

“I know,” said Trev. “But that does not make a difference to what I feel. And now Eiric is here. And I—I am not entirely rational when it comes to my brother Eiric.”

“I have known there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what,” said Cassandra, genuinely puzzled, after a time. It could not simply be the shame. “Why did you not speak sooner, after he arrived? Why have you waited so long to tell me? You must have known that I would not think less of you.”

There was a very long silence, then. Eventually Trev said in a low voice, “I knew that it would make you angry if you knew. And Eiric is a bitter, vengeful person. If you showed your anger against him, he would likely argue against your election as Divine. He may do so anyway, if he learns that we are lovers, to strike at me.”

Cassandra stared. _This_ was why the Inquisitor had wished to keep their relationship private? “Trev—”

“I do not want my family issues to affect Chantry decisions,” said the Inquisitor, her voice rising, pulling her hand from under Cassandra’s and standing, pacing. “It would not be fair to you.”

“Eiric is not the only functionary here. Can you believe that the others do not know who he is, what he is?”

Trev swallowed and said nothing.

Cassandra stood as well, and moved in front of Trev, who was stubbornly avoiding her eyes. She caught Trev’s face between her palms and held it until the Inquisitor could not help but look at her. “Trev,” she said. “I will not deny that you are my lover. I will not ignore your history. I will not accept his abuse of you now as a by-product of necessary political intrigue. Even if his influence is that great... If the Chantry cannot cope with my anger over such a thing, so be it.” She was in fact very angry, and she let it show.

Trev opened her mouth and shut it again.

“And to be clear,” said Cassandra fiercely, moving her hands to grip Trev’s shoulders, “you are the furthest thing from a coward I have ever known.” And then, seeing Trev’s face, “And it is not all stubbornness that makes you so. Though I will admit that stubbornness could be said to play a significant _part_ in your character.”

Trev laughed, though it was somewhat choked. “A large part?”

“Perhaps a large part,” agreed Cassandra. Then she sighed. “You must not let his position in the Chantry guide your reactions to him. Not for my sake.”

Trev pulled away from her abruptly. “If you do not want to be Divine, then say so,” she said furiously. “But if you want to be Divine, then these things are important, and I will _not_ allow my issues with Eiric to be the deciding factor. I will not stand in your way if it is your choice to be a candidate.”

Cassandra stared at her.

“You are angry at me,” she said. “You are angry that I agreed to stand as candidate to be Divine.” It was a revelation. She could not understand why she had not seen this before; it now seemed so clear.

Trev’s mouth moved a little, but she said nothing. She wheeled, and walked to the door again, and stared out. “Yes,” she said. She hesitated, and then said quietly, “I am not entirely rational on this subject, either. But I am trying.”

“If you were not angry,” Cassandra said slowly, feeling her way, “you would not try so hard to be fair. It would not matter to you.” Trev’s shoulders hunched.

“I know that it is what you want,” she said dully.

“Want?” said Cassandra. “It is not a question of what I _want_. What I _want_ is to be with you. It is a question of my faith. It is that if the Maker asks this of me, I must serve.”

“I understand that,” said Trev bitterly. “It is your duty.”

“No,” said Cassandra fiercely. “It is _not_ duty. It is faith. They are different. It is my faith that the Maker sets me where I must be. It is my faith that the Maker opens paths to me, to all of us, and gives us the freedom to choose to serve. It is my faith that some paths allow us to be greater than we are, to make the world better than it is, and that in choosing those paths we follow the Maker’s will and become closer to him. It is my faith that we must serve the world, not rule it and try to bend it to fit what we _want_. It is my faith that I must choose to be the Maker’s hand in this world, to the best of my ability, if I am given the chance. It is my faith that this is what brings me into the Maker’s presence.” She stopped, lost for words.

“Whether it is duty or faith,” said Trev bleakly into the silence, “the result is much the same from my viewpoint.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to retort, and then stopped. The Inquisitor was pale and her face was hollow with strain. “I know that,” she finally said gently. “I am sorry.” Trev made an indeterminate noise in response and began to pace again, but said nothing.

“I do not know how to explain,” Cassandra said. “I do not _want_ to be the Divine. I—” She swallowed. “I _want_ to stay with you forever, to fight beside you, to be your lover and your shield. If I cannot do that—it will break my heart.” She could not stop the catch in her voice. “But if I am asked I cannot refuse. If I am elected I will serve. I must. I _must_.” She could not continue.

“Do my wishes count for nothing in this?” cried Trev, wheeling round.

“ _Yes_ ,” said Cassandra, in anguish. “To go against your wishes, to hurt you—it _matters_. It does. I have found my heart in you. I cannot bear to hurt you. But my faith is part of me. My faith was part of me before I ever met you. It is part of me now. It will be part of me if I lose you. It is _not_ duty, which is a choice. My faith is part of who I am. To ask me to abandon what it is to me... you might as well ask me to grow horns like the Iron Bull.”

Trev gave a gulping laugh that was not truly a laugh, dropped back into her seat at the table, put her face in her hands, and said, “I might as well ask you to stop hunting dragons.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra after a moment. “It is the same thing. We are what we are. We must serve the things we love, or die.”

The Maker would not ask more than she could give. But the Maker might ask for everything. The only answer her faith would allow was to accept that, and give. She did not know how to explain that to Trev.

Cassandra leaned on the wall and let her head fall back against it and closed her eyes. She felt very tired. “I may not be elected Divine,” she said finally. “I think it is quite likely that I will not. I will not fight for the position, or court the people who advise the electors. I will not pretend to be something other than I am. They may take me as I am, or not at all. I will not hide the fact that you are my lover. I will not hide the fact that I despise your brother. I will not hide the truth about myself, about my faith, about who I love, about any of the things I believe and stand for. And you must not do so either. We _must_ be honest.

“It may be that the question of who will be elected Divine is the last thing either of us need to worry about. Corypheus may settle that question for us, one way or another. But until then...” She opened her eyes and looked at the Inquisitor. “I am still here. You haven’t lost me yet. I want you. I love you. I will always love you, Trev. But if we are to keep on, we must be in agreement. You must be able to accept my faith, knowing that it will not always lead me where my heart wants to go.”

“You are asking me to choose,” said Trev, muffled, into her hands. “To be with you and accept that I may lose you, or to leave you now. You are saying that we must take the time we have, and damn the future, or give up entirely.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra after a moment. “Trev, I do not want to give you up. But we cannot go on this way, hiding things from each other. You are not the only one who has not spoken. I—I have been afraid to speak to you of this. I was afraid that if I spoke I might lose you. I am afraid that I am losing you now.” She could not fully control her voice, but she made herself speak. “You—you said that you were not rational about your brother, or about my standing as a candidate for Divine. Losing you—losing you is the thing that I am not able to be rational about.” Her body, usually so obedient to her will, was betraying her; she could feel a tear on her cheek.

Trev raised her head and looked at Cassandra. She was not weeping, but her eyes were red. “I cannot stop caring,” she said after a moment. “Even if I accept that you cannot change who you are, that I might lose you, and stay with you under those terms, I cannot stop caring that you might leave me. I cannot stop hurting. And because of that I—I am not sure that I can stop the anger.”

“I know,” said Cassandra.

“If we stay together,” said Trev, “can you accept my pain?” She had set herself as if waiting for a blow.

“Yes,” said Cassandra with no hesitation. “If you can accept mine.” And she held out one shaking hand.

Trev looked at the hand, and then, slowly, took it. She looked terrified. They stood and looked at each other, bound in immobility.

Cassandra was not eloquent. She did not know how to craft language as others did, as a tool, as an extravagant, layered confection of meaning. Her words were often clumsy and awkward and did not express what she meant.

But sometimes, if she allowed her heart to speak, they were right.

“O my love,” she said, “I would bear all my pain and all of yours, if I could, to be with you, to love you. You _are_ loved, so very much.”

And Trev gave a gasping sob and came into her arms.

*           *           *

They talked long into the night; it was painful and difficult and there were many tears. Sometimes Cassandra found herself with no words, and sometimes Trev had too many. But they never let go of each other, and they did not stop trying to find their way. And in the end, Cassandra thought that they had found a balance, an acceptance. They might never be able to fully understand each other, but they could stay together. They _would_ stay together until Corypheus was dealt with. If there was a world after that, if they were both in it, they would deal then with what came next. It might bring more pain, but they would somehow manage.

The fire had died down, and the embers cast a dim, golden light. Sometime after they had begun to talk Trev had said, “I want to hold you against me, all of you, and we can’t do that in chairs, and I can’t stand all night, even for you,” and Cassandra had smiled against her hair. They pulled a bed from one of the rooms and put it before the hearth, and lay together on it as they talked. Now they lay in silence. Cassandra felt battered and bruised and drained and happier than she had been in a long time.

She put a hand to Trev’s cheek, and Trev looked at her and then closed her eyes and tightened her grip, and Cassandra kissed her forehead and let her hand run through Trev’s hair, and then down the back of her neck. And then she kissed Trev on the mouth, and began to touch her, and she tried to put everything she felt into it, all the love, all the tenderness and pain and fear, but most of all the love. She made love to every part of Trev, slowly and carefully and with all the swelling passion in her heart, until Trev came apart under her hands and mouth, and still she kept on, though more gently, without the desire to arouse her lover, because it was not about that, until she felt Trev relax into a boneless lassitude and then into sleep. And then she was content.

And later in the night when they both woke again she felt Trev’s hands move to her with equal gentleness, with equal care and equal love, and felt that her entire life, her entire being, rested between Trev’s hands and heart, and knew that whatever came in the future, she would have that night, a moment of imperfect understanding that was worth dying for.

In the morning they returned to the scouts’ camp, taking turns riding the horse while the other walked by their stirrup. They encountered no dangers. And when they arrived, Vivienne raised an eyebrow and said, “All is settled, then,” as if there were no question of it.

Sera simply grinned and teased both of them all the way back to Skyhold.

*           *           *

After that Cassandra no longer took care to hide the fact that she was the Inquisitor’s lover. She noticed that while Robert Benedict and Alia Constanza appeared unsurprised, Eiric Trevelyan seemed somewhat rattled by the discovery, and she took an unseemly pleasure in his discomfiture. The delegation did not question her about the relationship; the closest they came to it was when Eiric tentatively mentioned that the Divine was expected to forego all familial and romantic relationships. “Yes,” Cassandra agreed, as if it was a given, and said nothing else. He seemed somewhat nonplussed by her agreement, and she felt even more satisfaction.

The other change was in Trev’s behaviour toward her brother, a subject Cassandra had given some thought to. They had been making their way back to the scout’s camp when she broached the subject.

“Your brother has been prodding you,” she said, “I did not understand some of his comments before.”

“They were carefully chosen so that no one would understand them save me,” said Trev.

“I think,” said Cassandra carefully, “that you should indicate to him that he is not in a position to insult or intimidate you. You are the Inquisitor. He is a jumped up clerk.”

“His prodding is also calculated so that any response on my part will seem disproportionate,” said Trev bleakly. “I hold a great deal more power than he does, and the Inquisition cannot afford for the Inquisitor to be seen as vindictive.”

“That is so, and I think that if you were to attack him, he would feel even more of a martyr,” said Cassandra. “But you can laugh at him. I think that he would feel the pain of that more than the pain of a tongue-lashing, or even a thrashing.”

Trev stared at her. “You _have_ been taking lessons from Josephine.” She had begun to smile.

And the first fruits of this conversation had begun to show. One night in the Herald’s Rest, Trev had overheard Eiric speaking with an Orlesian courtier, as she was doubtless meant to, along with all of those around. “I am surprised that Orlais has allied with the Inquisition,” he was saying, “given that my sister has so little experience with leadership.”

Trev roared with laughter. “Cabot, no more wine for my brother! He needs to sober up. Evidently clerks don’t get out enough to follow politics.” There was an answering roar of gruffaws from the tavern’s patrons; Eiric’s arrogance had made him few friends in Skyhold.

“Here’s to our ‘inexperienced’ Inquisitor!” shouted Bull, lifting his tankard. “May we always be blessed with such inexperience!” And the tavern erupted.

Eiric went an unattractive shade of red. He might have stayed out of sheer stubbornness, but there would have been little point—Cabot had cheerfully taken Trev at her word, and refused to serve him when he went for a refill. Eiric, his temper already hair-triggered, responded by shouting abuse at him, but the bartender simply shrugged, and there was nothing Eiric could do about it.

Cabot had by this time developed a considerable disliking for Eiric, and thereafter refused to serve him at all, or even to sell liquor to his servants. Eiric protested, but being reduced to arguing with a barkeep as to whether he would be served only made him a greater figure of fun. When he finally asked Trev to intervene, she only shrugged. “I have nothing to do with the Herald’s Rest,” she said. “Cabot is an independent businessman and does as he likes. How did you offend him that he would refuse you service beyond one night? I have never seen him do that before.”

The tradesmen in the lower bailey _would_ sell to Eiric’s servants, but also took great enjoyment of his predicament, and tripled their prices. Eiric, who consumed a fairly significant amount of wine each day, found his expenses growing, and became exceptionally ill-tempered; and it was rumoured that his servants had been asking Skyhold’s staff about opportunities for employment.

*           *           *

The bridge at Judicael’s Crossing had been repaired, and explorations of the ruins beyond were proceeding, but they were slow and cautious; there were high dragons nesting in the area, making such excursions risky. Trev had argued in the War Council that the dragons would be a constant threat to operations in Emprise if they were not dealt with, and the Council had eventually agreed. Plans were underway to mount expeditions to kill them.

Cassandra opened the door into the Great Hall from the stairs leading to Vivienne’s quarters, where she had been conferring with the mage on some details of defensive techniques. And there was Eiric, his back to her, pontificating yet again to his assistants and a trio of particularly foolish Orlesian nobles. None of them noticed her. She sighed and looked for a route past that would not draw attention.

But then she heard what he was saying.

“I don’t believe for a moment that Evelyn had anything to do with killing that dragon, or any of the others. Evelyn couldn’t bruise a mabari. The Seeker is the only real dragon killer here; they only give the credit to my sister to make her seem more fearsome, more important. And now there are dragons again, they’ll go out to kill them, everyone else will do the work and Evelyn will be given called the killer. It’s all for show.”

“But surely there would be rumours if she was not part of the fighting?” said one noble dubiously.

“Not if everyone present is part of her inner circle,” said Eiric. “Look, dragon fighting is dangerous. It requires a high level of skill that not many people have, and it’s hard to get experience; there aren’t that many dragons around, after all. I’ve always been sorry that I’ve never had a chance to take a dragon myself.”

Cassandra found a wild impulse dropping into her mind, and went with it. “Serah Eiric!” she said. “Did I hear you say that you would like the chance to be involved in a dragon hunt? We are mounting an expedition, and you would be most welcome as a member.”

Eiric started and turned, gaping. “I—er...”

“It is a wonderful chance for a seasoned warrior such as yourself,” said Cassandra. “I know that you find the work of a bureaucrat chafing, sometimes; this is a rare opportunity, and we would greatly benefit from your presence.” She attempted a friendly expression. It was somewhat challenging, but she thought she was moderately successful. From the corner of her eye she saw Robert and Alia’s expressions, which seemed to have taken on a degree of alertness that she rarely saw in them.

Eiric shut his mouth and began to look thoroughly pleased with himself. “I would be delighted to accept.”

“Excellent,” said Cassandra. “I will ask the scouts to ensure that your needs are supplied; we must take care that you are treated as befits someone of your rank. And I will inform the Inquisitor that you will be present.” She smiled and walked on.

*           *           *

“You asked him to _what_?” shouted Trev, when Cassandra told her what she had done. “After all that I had told you? I can’t—”

“Trev,” said Cassandra, “I know his presence will be hard for you. But please... trust me.”

The Inquisitor stopped and stared at her. “What are you thinking?”

“Your brother is a blowhard,” said Cassandra. “I am giving him an opportunity to embarrass himself.”

Trev looked thoughtful. “I am not sure that this is a good idea,” she said at last. “But all right. We will see what happens.”

*           *           *

“For the hunting party,” said Trev to Cassandra a day later, “I planned to take you, Bull, and Sera, but Vivienne has particularly asked to accompany us, so I will leave Sera off this time.”

“That is strange.” said Cassandra. “Vivienne usually takes no interest in dragon hunts.”

Trev shrugged. “That was what I thought too. But she approached me privately and asked it as a favour. She is calm and capable and I have no worries about her; and truthfully, it will be good to have a mage with us. I know Bull would prefer Dorian, but Vivienne rarely asks for anything. It will be interesting to see her in action against this kind of enemy.”

*           *           *

At the camp in Emprise, preparations were underway. The scouts had brought word that the dragon they planned to take first was a Kaltenzahn, an ice dragon, and they prepared accordingly. Vivienne had brought a particularly fine staff made to enhance her fire magic, and they all stocked up on cold-resistant tonics.

All except Eiric. He had brought some particularly fine armour of which he was very proud, but Cassandra vaguely recalled him saying that it had been charmed for fire resistance, not ice. Did he think that the type of dragon was less important than the beauty of the armour?

He had been expressing opinions for the entire time they had been travelling, though no one seemed to be listening. Cassandra had been paying some attention, simply because he sought her out and she was trying to remain civil to him, and he seemed to think that the hunt would be a simple thing, rather along the lines of a bear hunt. This was a very strange attitude. Perhaps he believed the things he himself had been saying about Trev, and expected them to target a young dragon that had not attained its full growth and capabilities? If so, he had not been listening to the scout’s reports.

His assistants, Robert and Alia, had asked to accompany the expedition as observers, and they had certainly been listening; they had been following all of the discussions with great interest. But perhaps they had not been communicating what they learned with Trev’s brother.

In any case, when Trev told Eiric to help himself to whatever he wanted at the potions table, his response was that he had everything he needed. Cassandra saw that he had a few healing potions in his belt, but he did not appear to have any cold resistance tonics, which was simply foolish.

But she could not quite bring herself to advise him on this matter.

The bridge at Judicael’s Crossing offered the first view of their destination, and with it the first view of the dragons, flying. “Damn, they’re beautiful!” roared Bull. “Look at that!”

The party had stopped, and Cassandra looked at Eiric. His expectations rarely matched reality, though he usually appeared capable of ignoring such inconveniences; but this time that would not be possible. He was standing very still and staring, and had gone white.

“Are there... only five of us in the hunting party?” he said. “Or will the scouts be assisting?”

“No, they don’t have the armour,” said Trev. “They’ll guard the other delegates. But five is one more than usual; we generally hunt with only four, it’s really all that is necessary.”

Eiric said nothing.

The scouts set up a small camp in a ruin below the dragon’s plateau, a well protected space; they would not have time to fight the dragon and return across the bridge on the same day. The hunters divested themselves of all unnecessary items, arranged their gear, and prepared for battle.

It had been arranged that while Eiric would fight with them, the other delegates would stay with the scouts and observe from a place of safety—or at least of as much safety could be expected when a dragon was in the area. If they were unexpectedly threatened the scouts could protect them and get them to a safer location within the ruins.

At the top of the stairs Trev cautiously looked around a broken wall to determine the lay of the ground. “I think the best place for the observers will be here,” she said to the scouts. “You’ll be able to take cover quickly below if there is need. But watch for dragonlings; they have been reported, but I don’t see any on the plateau, and that means they could be anywhere.”

“All right,” she said to the hunters, “let’s confirm our strategy. Bull and Cassandra, you know the routine; get in there and go after the legs. Eiric can assist you. Stay away from the tail. I’ll be using Antivan fire grenades, don’t lose track and back into the fire by mistake. All of us will need to watch for the ice blasts, we can’t afford to get slowed down. If you see someone hit, distract the dragon and give them time to recover. Vivienne, it will be hard to use Barrier effectively if the dragon moves as much as they usually do. Keep up the fire attacks and watch for anyone that needs healing. This dragon is likely to do a lot of damage, so that applies to all of you; watch for companions in trouble. We can use Healing Mist if necessary.

“We’ll go after right hind leg first, then left hind, then left fore, in that order. Vivienne, there’s a stone block over there that should give you some cover. Bull, flank it to the left, Cassandra and I will circle from the right. Eiric, follow Bull. Ready?” They nodded, except for Eiric, who had a strangely fixed expression. “On my word... _go_.”

And then Eiric, with a startlingly high-pitched scream, charged ahead of them all, directly at the dragon. The dragon raised its head.

“Maker’s balls!” shouted Trev. “Go, go!”

The first ice blast hit Eiric head on, effectively taking him out of action, but by that time the others had gotten to the sides and were able to distract the dragon, and eventually he was able to stagger forward.

His contribution to the fight could not be said to be meaningful. On the three occasions when he actually landed a blow it was not strategically placed and did no damage to speak of, and his attack was quickly and emphatically countered by the dragon. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to find himself in the path of the leaping reptile, and instead of running toward the dragon when it used its wings, he tried to back away, with predictable results. Trev used Healing Mist twice on him, and Vivienne saved him on the third occasion, when he was overrun by dragonlings before he could kill even one of them. He spent more time flat on his back, knocked aside by a foot or wing, than on his feet, and he seemed unable to avoid the dragon’s ice blasts, which rendered him incapable for minutes at a time. On two additional occasions he blundered into Trev’s Antivan fire; luckily his screams attracted Vivienne’s attention, and she was able to heal him quickly. Toward the end, the dragon took to the air, returning to perch high on a ledge; the companions, who had been killing dragonlings at that point, took shelter close under it, and were unharmed by the blasts it sent out—except, of course, for Eiric, who had not responded to Trev’s shouted orders to take cover. He went down again, stunned, but luckily the dragon left its perch to finish him off, and they were able to finish her off when she tried.

The fight would have been over considerably more quickly if they had all not had to spend so much time keeping Eiric alive.

After the battle the scouts moved forward to begin the work of preparing the head, which Trev had decided to take as a trophy, it being a particularly fine one. While they conferred as to how to best handle it the others stood around, talking. Eiric had gone to speak to his associates. They had had a lively time as well; the dragonlings had come up the stairs from below, and the scouts had had a great deal to do in getting Robert and Alia to a safer location.

“Well,” Cassandra heard Eiric say, “I am glad that I was able to help keep the dragon from you; the scouts could not have saved you if you had caught its attention.”

Bull, standing close by, roared with laughter. “That’s one way of describing it, serah,” he said. “It’s an interesting tactic! Save your associates by letting the dragon overcome you, again and again. Fall to every ice blast and lie helpless on the ground under its feet until someone rescues you. A perfect distraction!”

“How dare you!” snarled Eiric, going purple, “You and your Vint lover may have pulled the wool over my sister’s eyes, but I see you for what you are. You are nothing better than a filthy animal, you—”

But Bull’s laughter only increased in volume, and he was not the only one laughing.

And then Trev was there, and she was furiously angry. “What in the name of Andraste’s ass do you think you were doing?” she roared at her brother. “I would expect a brainless charge like that from a raw recruit pissing his pants on his first mission, not someone who is supposed to be a warrior! Are you altogether incapable of keeping a clear head and following orders?”

Eiric, whose temper was already in tatters, snapped entirely, and drew his sword and swung at her.

Cassandra’s hand was at her sword hilt, but Trev was faster. There was a flurry of motion and Eiric’s sword flew from his hand, and he dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. Trev’s foot came down on the wrist that began to reach for the fallen sword. “I don’t really think that you want me to draw my daggers, Eiric,” she said conversationally. He stopped his movement; he was still gasping for breath and there was blood on his mouth. His associates were staring, their mouths open in shock

“I had not finished what I had to say,” Trev said then, “and you _will_ hear it. Let me make something clear. You hold less rank in Skyhold than one of the armoury cats. You have diplomatic status, but its reach is limited to your diplomatic activities. When you act outside that position, you are under my authority. You are a subordinate, and every member of my council and inner circle holds more rank than you do, including Bull, Dorian, and all the others. Scout Harding has more authority than you do. This is because they have proved their loyalty and their competence, both of which you have failed to demonstrate. If I give an order on military matters, you follow it. If any of them give an order, you follow it. Is that understood?”

Eiric stared at her, his teeth bared, and said nothing.

Trev stepped a little harder on his wrist. “Is that understood, or would you care to challenge me? I can assure you that I would accept your challenge with delight. It would be interesting for you to find out how much I have learned since you taught me.”

“I understand,” he muttered.

“Good,” she said, and turned away.

There was a moment when he thought of taking her from behind; Cassandra saw the thought pass through his mind and the twitch in his hand, and then he met her eyes. She stared at him levelly, and he drew his hand back from his sword.

She would not have hesitated, and he knew it. He scrambled to his feet, picked up his blade, and stormed off toward their camp.

Robert and Alia were slower to follow, and Cassandra noticed that as they did, though they said nothing, they had very _satisfied_ expressions.

*           *           *

“Thank you, my dear,” said Vivienne to Trev the next day, as they were crossing the causeway again, Eiric trailing the group at some distance. “That was a _most_ educational expedition. I learned a great deal, and have no doubt it will be of great benefit to me.”

Trev smiled at her. “I’m delighted that you found it so, Madame de Fer,” she said. Cassandra thought that her mood was lighter than it had been in days, and was very relieved.

Eiric’s assistants seemed especially light-hearted as well; Cassandra overheard them laughing, and heard Eiric’s name in their murmured conversations, although she noticed that they took care to be sure that he was not near them at the time. She was quite certain that reports of the events in Skyhold would be spread throughout the Chantry when the delegates returned home—which she suspected would be soon now—and took great delight in that belief.

*           *           *

The formal farewells to the Chantry delegation were not prolonged; everyone on both sides was eager for the party to leave. There was an official dinner the night before they departed, with everyone more or less on their best behaviour. Leliana and Cassandra attended as candidates, together with the rest of the Council and Vivienne. The mage’s presence surprised Cassandra a little, as she had been a witness of Eiric’s humiliation, but she had apparently made some kind of overture to him, and he seemed happy with her presence. He had regained some of his self-satisfaction, although he did not seem quite as pleased with himself as Vivienne did, Cassandra thought.

Toward the end of the evening she found herself speaking with Eiric for a little while, as etiquette required; they were alone in a corner of the Hall. “I wish you a quick, safe journey back to Val Royeaux, Serah Eiric,” she said.

“It cannot be quick enough for me,” he said. Truly, the man had no manners whatsoever.

“Do you think the Grand Clerics will make a decision soon?” she asked, curious. “There have been several delegations now, including yourselves.”

“If I have any influence, there will be,” he said. This seemed very unlikely to her, so she said nothing in response. He stared at her. It was obvious that he disliked her; it was clear that her relationship with Trev, as the Inquisitor had predicted, had cemented that even before his embarrassment in the dragon hunt. “I will be recommending that the Grand Clerics do not select you,” he said finally, with a nasty edge in his voice. “The position of Divine requires dignity and spiritual distance from the world. I would die before I recommend a fornicating brawler who hunts dragons and ties herself to— There are far better candidates. I shall be recommending the election of Madame de Fer.”

So that was Vivienne’s game. Cassandra couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud, and heartily. Several people who had rarely seen the Seeker’s smile, much less heard her laugh, looked around, startled. “Well Serah, good luck with your campaign,” she said finally, and moved on, shaking her head. Evidently he had not expected this reaction—he looked entirely disconcerted.

But she did not care. She was not entirely pleased with the idea of Vivienne on the Sunburst Throne; the mage was too conservative, and likely to try to keep things as they had been rather than find ways to make them better. But she was certainly a strong and determined and capable woman who would end the confusion and take things in hand.

Overall, Cassandra was satisfied. As she had told Trev, the Chantry might take her as she was, or not at all. Serah Eiric would have influence, or he would not; it was that simple.

*           *           *

“Threads untangled, tying together, not tugging, not apart,” said Cole as she came up the stairs into Trev’s quarters, and Cassandra turned to him where he stood before the fire. He was smiling. “Weaving, waiting, the cord is sure and strong. It was the tangles that were the problem, not the threads. I see that now. You need the threads. I need the threads.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra gently. “We all need the threads, Cole.”

*           *           *

On the next morning Cassandra watched the Chantry delegation ride out with a great deal of satisfaction: Trev’s troublesome brother was finally gone. It seemed unlikely that she would be elected Divine after all this, though of course one never knew what might go on in the minds of the Grand Clerics, and she must be prepared for every eventuality.

But she had been thinking. She had been the Right Hand to two Divines. She had experience of the reality of the position, as did Leliana. This was a benefit if she was elected; but it was also a warning. She knew what was required of a Divine, and therefore she knew that a great deal of it was like the Orlesian Great Game. It was lies, and misdirections, and masks, and everything she stood against. It was _politics_. It was balancing this interest with that one, rather than choosing what was right. Vivienne would revel in such an environment, but she would hate it. She did not know if she would be able to rise above the frustration and anger it would cause in her; and if she could not, would she be capable of being a good leader?

She had tired of the position of Right Hand years before, but had been persuaded not to leave by Justinia. Justinia had renewed her faith in the Chantry’s mission, and her part in it. Justinia had been inspirational.

Cassandra was not at all certain that it was within her character to be inspirational.

In battle, yes. But the ability to inspire that was required of a political leader was not the same, and required skills that she knew she lacked. Leliana would do better at it. Leliana had the kind of faith that could put out its hands and pull others to her. Leliana would dive into the Game like a fish into water, and laugh. There had been a considerable length of time when Cassandra had worried about Leliana, but the spymaster had found her feet again. She could be tough and ruthless, but was also kind and loving. And she had Josephine, who would always balance her.

In truth, Leliana would be a better Divine with Josephine than without her, despite the strictures against such relationships. That realization gave Cassandra pause.

And if Leliana was elected—Cassandra would still have influence, because they knew each other so well and knew when to trust each other. She would have influence with Vivienne as well, though considerably less. She knew that in some way, after all they had gone through, they had become family to each other, and those bonds could be dissolved hardly less easily than the one between herself and Trev. The bonds—the threads—might change if one of them was elected, but the ties would still be there.

Cassandra had begun to see that her choices were more than just yes and no. It was not serve or do not serve; it was how could she _best_ serve? If she was not Divine she could turn her attention more fully to the Seekers. The Divine could not truly oversee the rebuilding of the order, because too much could be kept from her, as had happened with Justinia. And if she took on the Seekers she could focus more on finding the solution to the Tranquil, a problem she thought not enough people saw the urgency of.

She had always thought that the Maker put an opportunity in front of you and you could choose to accept or refuse. Now she was beginning to think that the Maker sometimes put many opportunities in front of you, and let you choose between them.

She had seen what the demands of duty could do if it was not freely given, if it was not a choice that matched the best of one’s nature. She had seen what it had done to Trev. Cassandra had always thought that her duty was to _accept_ what the Maker offered; but perhaps her duty was to _choose_.

If she was elected, she could refuse. She had never considered this before. Perhaps the Maker wanted her to choose to be more than a tool. Perhaps the Maker might be better served by her choosing to do what she was good at, rather than accepting the will of people whose motivations, she knew, were not entirely in the Maker’s service. The Grand Clerics might not perfectly demonstrate the Maker’s will in their choices; people were fallible.

But was this her own desire speaking, her own desperate need to be with Trev? She wasn’t sure. She must be sure.

She would say nothing to Trev yet. But she would think on it.

And in the meantime, Trev stood by her side on the stairs leading up to the door of the Great Hall, watching the Chantry delegation ride away. And when they disappeared from sight Trev smiled at her, and in the sight of all, leaned to kiss her cheek. And Cassandra blushed, as she always did when Trev demonstrated affection so publically, and Trev’s grin grew wider, as it always did.

But this time, to the surprise of everyone and most of all Trev, she put her hands on the Inquisitor’s shoulders and kissed her back, fierce and gentle and loving—and not on the cheek.

 

_FINIS_

 

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: physical and mental (non-sexual) abuse of a youth. The description is not explicit.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Well. This didn't turn out at all as I was expecting. (Which seems to be the refrain for most of my writing, somehow.) I figured I was mostly done with angst after finishing The Storm, and that this would be much fluffier. I could explain some of Trev's backstory by bringing her brother into it, which would involve a satisfying amount of emotional stuff and tidy up some questions, and that would be about it.
> 
> And then the elephant in the room sat up and cleared its throat.
> 
> I have always had a hard time with the idea that Cassandra would end her relationship with the Inquisitor if she was elected Divine. I understand why it makes perfect sense for her character, but I don't like it, not one little bit. I think that at best doing so would make her desperately frustrated* and unhappy (not to mention the Inquisitor) and I think that in the long run that such unhappiness would likely make her a less effective Divine. 
> 
> Furthermore, she is a romantic at heart, and to find happiness and then to lose it to duty... Given all the politicking and infighting, I suspect that she would not find it easy or perhaps even possible to make all the changes she wanted to make to the Chantry, and that she would find the struggle unbearably frustrating. And if she did not succeed in making what she saw as essential changes, after giving everything up to do it, I think she could become bitter and perhaps lose her faith, because she would not have the flexibility and adaptability that someone like Leliana would have. 
> 
> It's not a fate I would wish on her. But it's certainly something that she and the other characters would have to address in the lead-up to the electors' choice. 
> 
> Anyway, this is how I worked it all out in ways that made sense to me. I hope they make sense to you as well. 
> 
> As always, written for my love, who provided excellent ideas and feedback as I worked the plot out.
> 
> * _I mean, have you_ had _that post-game convo with her if she is elected Divine?_


End file.
